


Deck the Hales with Mistletoe and Holly

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Met Later, Christmas, Evil Kate, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Rogue Alpha, Werewolf Hunters, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles recognizes that there are a number of reasons why this is a bad idea.</p><p>  <i>or</i></p><p>The one where Stiles manages to somehow imply that he might be dating his exceedingly hot TA for freshman lit, and ends up inviting him home for the holidays (along with his two crazy sisters) and really hopes that Lydia doesn't find out he was lying and kill him before maybe he can make it so he's not lying after all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a fake boyfriend story. And I wanted to write a holiday story. And I sort of meant for this to be finished by Christmas but um... instead I'm posting the first chapter. I make no promises on timing for updates, but I hope to finish it up (and for it not to be ragingly long) by the new year. While this is AU, I promise there will be definite hints of canon coming. I hope y'all enjoy and read along!
> 
> This will be posted simultaneously on AO3 and tumblr (any pieces going over an R rating will be linked from tumblr to AO3 for full content).
> 
> Of course, I do not own the world or characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.
> 
> ETA: Sidenote, this story took a left turn on me and developed a way more serious plot than intended, but in the end it IS a fake boyfriend and a holiday story. I just apparently fail at fluffy. If anyone's curious how the story developed, I will be writing something about the process on tumblr after I'm done.

Stiles recognizes that there are a number of reasons why this is a bad idea.

For one, Derek Hale is his TA and has been consistently grumpy, growly, and not at all appreciative of Stiles’s creative responses to his _occasional_ lack homework for an entire semester.

For two, he doesn’t even know if Derek Hale is gay. Or attached. Or maybe he’s just declared war on love and is busily stomping it out.

For three, Stiles has never spoken three words to Derek Hale that weren’t about homework, classwork, or what an ass the professor is (Stiles’s words, not Derek’s).

On the other hand, there are a number of reasons why it is a fantastic idea.

For one, Allison already thinks they’re dating.

For two, Scott already thinks they’re dating.

For three, _Lydia_ already thinks they’re dating.

Now, admittedly, that might be Stiles’s fault, which brings him to the fourth reason why it’s a really bad, almost _horrific_ idea, which is the massive crush he’s had on Derek Hale since the semester began.

So maybe he might have talked about him a bit.

And had pictures in his room.

And maybe Scott made an assumption, and he told Allison, who told Lydia, who all just want Stiles to be _happy_.

Yeah.

Right.

So this is why Stiles is standing there outside of Derek’s office at the end of his office hours, waiting for the last of his classmates to leave, so that Stiles can invite Derek to come visit him over break.

At his family home.

As his boyfriend.

Because honestly, when it comes down to it?

Derek’s growl is a lot less scary than Lydia finding out she’s been lied to.

A _lot_ less scary.

#

“No.”

“Dude, you can’t just say _no_.”

“I just did.” Derek closes his laptop with a thunk and shoves it into his bag. “What you’re talking about is the kind of inappropriate behavior that can get me fired. I’m not interested.”

“Okay, let’s break this down. First of all, we aren’t actually dating. Obviously. My friends just happen to _think_ we are, so you have plenty of plausible deniability. Second, we won’t actually _be_ dating at any point in time, and third, you won’t be teaching me any more after Thursday’s final, so it wouldn’t even matter if we were.” Stiles realizes how that sounds and blinks twice, holding his hands up. “Not that we would be. Look. All I’m asking is come to my place for a few days in the middle of break, act like a boyfriend, and hell, you can even stage a blow up fight and we’ll break up. Everyone will be satisfied and I’ll get sympathy out of it, and you… well… I can pay you. Maybe. Do you take cookies?”

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose tight enough that Stiles thinks it’s going to leave marks. “I’m not going to abandon my sisters on Christmas.”

That almost sounds like capitulation. “Bring her! Dad would love to meet her, I’m sure.”

“You told your father that we’re dating.” Derek lowers his hand slowly, the furrow of his frown deepening.

“No. Of course not. Not yet. But Scott might have told his mom who might have told my dad so it’s possible that he knows. Something that isn’t true, of course, but he doesn’t know _that_.” Stiles winds down with a sigh. “Look, dude, you’ll be saving my ass. In return, I can promise you a good Christmas dinner, appropriately boyfriend-like presents, and cookies. We do the whole family thing with Scott and his mom, and Allison will probably be there and her dad—it’s like single parent night. Found family. Stuff like that. You and your sister would be welcome.”

“Sisters.”

“Okay then.” Stiles spreads his hands. “Sisters. Are there are any brothers or parents I should be expecting as well?”

The way Derek’s expression closes off tells Stiles that it’s past time to shut up. There are storms brewing, and Stiles tries to stave them off. “Look, dude, don’t say no again. Just come. Once. You can fight with me on Christmas day if you want. Allison and Lydia will probably sympathize with you instead of me because honestly, I’m an ass. Scott will be on my side, because he’s my best bro, and that’s what we do, even if we’re wrong. And I’m willing to be as wrong as you want as long as you don’t say I cheated, because I wouldn’t do shit like that.”

He picks up Derek’s phone without asking and quickly punches in a text to himself, then saves the number as a contact. “There. Now we’re in touch. Send me a picture or two when you get a chance so it looks real, and everything will be perfect. All you need to do is be at my dad’s house on Christmas Eve. I’ll send you the address.”

“I didn’t say yes.”

“I know.” Stiles sets the phone back down on the desk. “But you’re going to. I can tell. And I owe you one, dude. If you want me to correct every single paper for your freshman writing seminar next semester, I’ll do that. You need someone to clean your apartment, I’m your guy. The only thing I can’t do is buy you beer, because I’m not legal and you are, so all the beer buying is up to you. Everything else, you ask, and I’ll jump. Okay?”

Derek looks like he’s been hit by a car, or maybe something larger, like a truck, or a several car train. Stiles smiles quickly and decides, “Okay.” Then he gets out of there before Derek can possibly try to say no again.

This is going to work. He has a good feeling about it.

Okay.

Well.

He doesn’t have an incredibly _bad_ feeling, so there’s potential. He can _make_ it work. How hard can it be to pretend to be boyfriends for twenty-four hours?

#

Stiles’s phone buzzes in the middle of the final exam for his freshman writing seminar. He has maybe two paragraphs to go on his essay, then he has to correct it, make sure he hasn’t randomly substituted something other than what he meant to say (because honestly, half the time his brain is moving faster than he can write), and then he can hand it in.

Can’t touch the phone until then, not with the professor staring daggers from one side of the room, and TA Derek Hale glaring from the other.

With his phone in his hand.

And a hint of a smirk as he catches Stiles’s eyes and puts that phone away.

Apparently Derek’s an ass too. Stiles appreciates that in a guy.

He whips through the last of his work and is the first one done with the exam. When he approaches the professor, he is waved off towards Derek, so Stiles drops the booklet on the table and makes a show of taking his phone out of his pocket as he walks away.

_Cora and Laura are in. Where do you live?_

Stiles resists the urge to fist pump before he gets out of the classroom. Still. Yes! It’s working. Everything’s working, even though there are two extra people in the mix and way too many ways for this to go wrong.

 _Beacon Hills_. He texts the address as well, and instructions to arrive on Christmas Eve morning. Or earlier, if they want. Stiles doesn’t mind having them around longer.

There’s a long delay before another message comes through. _Change of plans. No._

That is _not_ an acceptable response.

Stiles makes himself comfortable on the floor, sitting cross-legged and leaning up against the wall opposite the door to the lecture hall. He has his laptop open and he’s skimming sites online before the next person walks out. There’s a semi-steady stream of his classmates over the next half hour, then a pause before the door opens and the rest of them flood out when the exam time is done. He closes down the laptop and slides it back into his backpack, managing to have his back turned when the professor leaves the room.

He catches the door and ducks through it, letting it close once he spots Derek still gathering together the mess of booklets into a neat pile.

Derek looks up and scowls. “You can’t be in here.”

“I’m not going to touch the exams.” Stiles raises his hands in promise, then shoves them both in his pockets, so he can’t be tempted to fidget and possibly poke at the booklets accidentally. “I just wanted to know why you’ve changed your mind.”

Derek’s jaw goes tense, one muscle popping as it tightens. “I’m not interested in going to Beacon Hills.”

“It’s not a bad place. I mean, yeah, it’s a small town but there’s a city right there, and we’ve got the preserve, and you run, right? We’ve got the best paths to run on. And my dad’s the sheriff, so you know it’s a safe place, right?” There’s something more to the story here, Stiles is sure of it. “But I mean, yeah, no pressure, you can just let me hang when Lydia gets hold of me and gets into the whole lying thing. Or hey, we could go out now. For coffee. Let her see us, meet us there, have a cappuccino, tell her you’re not coming for the holidays…”

Derek eyes the stack of booklets significantly. “Until grades are in, I’m having nothing to do with you. So no, no coffee. No fake dates. No Lydia, whoever that is. And no Beacon Hills.”

“But…”

“No.”

Stiles opens his mouth, but Derek stops him with a glare. “ _No_ ,” Derek growls, and the word resonates low enough to curl in Stiles’s gut and… oh. Oops. Fear boner.

Stiles takes a step backwards, the arm holding his jacket lowering just enough to cover his crotch. “Right. Fine. Deal’s off. No cookies. Got it. I’ll just let Lydia kill me and hey, my dad won’t have to worry about paying for a second semester here, which’ll be a big load off his back. After the funeral costs and everything. But don’t you worry about that. I mean, it’s Lydia. She likes me so she might just maim me. Do your sisters do that? Kill you for lying to them?”

“Never lied to them.”

It’s funny, but Stiles is pretty damned sure Derek is lying right at that moment when he says that. The words come out easily enough, but there’s an edge to them, the way he doesn’t look at Stiles, the way his fingers curl around the stack of booklets, neatening the edges of a pile that is already perfectly stacked.

Stiles isn’t the Sheriff’s son for nothing. He knows how to look for clues, and that one seems day-glo to him.

But he lets it go, because it’s not an argument for right now. “Fine,” he says. “Thanks anyway. Have a great holiday, have fun grading exams. I’m pretty sure mine’s at least coherent. I can’t say much for some of these people. I wonder about the school systems that are getting them here. Half of them still don’t seem to know what a theme is, or a topic sentence, or a conclusion. But hey, that’s your problem, and Lydia’s my problem. So. Yeah. Happy holidays and all that.”

He backs up a few steps before he turns on his heel and stalks out. He’s done embarrassing himself. Besides, coffee with Lydia sounds good. Hopefully she won’t bring up Derek.

Yeah. Right.

At least he’s got some time to figure out his story. Maybe he can come up with a really good breakup to talk about. That’d work.

Probably not.

He’s so screwed.

#

Stiles can’t figure out how to best explain to Lydia that Derek not only won’t be visiting, they aren’t actually dating at all. He fiddles with his phone while they have coffee and chat about exams and going home, and when the thing actually buzzes, it surprises him enough that he drops it on the table.

“Are Scott and Allison almost ready to get on the road?” Lydia asks.

_Why me?_

Stiles picks up the phone and taps back a quick message. _Does it really matter anyway?_

He shakes his head to Lydia’s question. “No. It’s just Derek. He’s got something against going to Beacon Hills, and then there’s this thing with his sisters… it doesn’t really matter. It’s probably not happening anyway.”

Lydia’s lips purse. “You’re starting to sulk. Give me that, I’ll have this settled in—”

“Uh, no.” Stiles quickly pockets the phone, refusing to look when it buzzes again. “You really don’t need to get involved. Do you have everything packed already?”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course I do. Allison would be ready if she weren’t off somewhere with _your_ roommate, who was last seen trying to decide how to fit everything into one suitcase. He does realize that he can take more than that, doesn’t he? We have an entire month away from this place, not to mention we can pack creatively in the car. Or take two cars, if need be.”

“You’ll miss it here.”

She sighs. “I will. I have no desire to see my mother, and my father refuses to join us. Which is probably for the best.”

“Come over to our place. You know we’d love to have you.”

“I might not know what to do without the shouting.” She arches one eyebrow and Stiles laughs. His phone buzzes again, and this time Lydia looks at his pocket like she knows what it is and who it is, and when she holds out her hand, Stiles shakes his head.

“No way. There is absolutely no way I’m letting you talk to Derek right now.”

“Right now?” Lydia purses her lips. “I’m beginning to think that’s a forever thing, Stiles. You haven’t introduced us, you haven’t even made an _attempt_ , and now he’s not coming for Christmas? Either he’s ashamed of you, or you’re lying.”

“He was my TA, Lyds. We couldn’t exactly date publicly while he was grading my exam.” It’s an excuse, and Stiles has a feeling that Lydia’s starting to realize that. He’d managed to put her off all semester, but now that the exams are done, she’s pushing more. His pocket buzzes again, and she gives him a significant look.

“Answer him. No one likes to be put off.”

He huffs, annoyed, and digs his phone out of his pocket to find three texts waiting.

_Laura says we’re coming._

_95 on your exam by the way. A for the semester. Would be better if you didn’t ramble._

_Did you get my text? I am not sharing a pullout couch with my sisters._

It can’t be real. Stiles can’t quite believe that it really is a yes, so he texts back _seriously?_ He doesn’t have to wait long before the return text comes, and he can imagine Derek scowling and grumbling with the _yes, seriously_ that is displayed on his screen.

He doesn’t realize he’s grinning until Lydia snorts softly. “Good news?” she asks.

“Yeah, they’re coming. Derek and his sisters.” He texts that he’ll call Derek later to give directions and figure out timing, then puts his phone away. “Why are you smirking like that?”

“You only have one guest room.” Lydia shrugs one shoulder. “Derek’s not a small guy, which means it would be horribly awkward and rude to make him sleep on the couch. So either you could offer to take the couch yourself, or you’ve got a great reason to convince your dad to let him stay in your room.”

There’s a swift rush of warmth under his skin and Stiles knows he must be a brilliant shade of red. “Um. I’ll just… cross that bridge when I come to it. I still have to tell my dad that I’m bringing home three guests, not one, and that out of them all, I’m dating the dude.”

He doesn’t really think it’ll go badly with his dad but it’s still not easy to say _oh hey, I’m into both boys and girls_ so he wants to set aside some time to do it right. He pushes back from the table. “Scott and Allison are probably in my room. I’ll kick her out and get us ready to go. We can hit the road first thing in the morning.”

#

Stiles doesn’t like it when anyone else drives his baby, but if he’s driving, he can’t text. And if he can’t text, he’d have to talk on the phone, and _that_ won’t work, not when everyone else would hear it on speaker. This conversation with Derek will be tricky enough. He’d tried calling the night before, but it went through to voice mail, and there wasn’t a response until his phone buzzed with a text halfway to Beacon Hills. He pulled over for a rest stop and handed the keys to Scott when they got back in, claiming he was tired.

He’s not fooling anyone, he knows that, but he figures Scott just chalks it up to that whole new relationship thing. Which is fine with Stiles.

_We’ll be driving down on Monday. Laura says we’ll stay until Friday. Can you put us up?_

He touches the screen, sliding his thumb over the smooth glass. He could call, or he could text. If he calls, Scott will hear one side of the conversation, which isn’t bad. He thinks. Maybe. He touches the phone icon before he can reconsider, and chews on his lip while waiting for Derek to respond.

“Driving?” Derek asks when he picks up.

“No, Scott is. I just figured it’d be easier to coordinate when I don’t have to type everything. I ramble,” Stiles says with a small smile, thinking back to what Derek had said about his exam.

“You do.” Stiles hears noise in the background, then the muffled sound of Derek’s voice. “Ignore everything you hear,” Derek says when he comes back. “My sisters are assholes.”

“So am I. We’ll probably get along great.” Stiles ignores the look Scott shoots at him. “So anyway. Yeah. Monday to Friday is great. We do that big thing on Christmas day that I was telling you about, and on Christmas Eve we might go out. It’s not exactly a big town, but it’s—”

“I’m familiar with Beacon Hills, Stiles.”

“Oh.” Stiles does some rapid calculations, because of course, he doesn’t think he knew Derek before he got to college. On the other hand, Derek’s his TA, and a grad student, and has to be at least four or five years older, so that isn’t entirely improbable. “Well, then, my dad’s the Sheriff, so you know you’ll be in good hands.” He reels off his address, and tells Derek to get there any time. He wants to know why Derek keeps saying what _Laura_ wants to do. Do they have some kind of truly creepy relationship? It doesn’t make sense to him, but he’ll find out soon enough. And it’s not something he’s going to bring up in front of Scott.

He drags in a breath. “Yeah, you have a place to crash. We’ve got a guest room.”

“There are three of us,” Derek points out.

“And we’re dating,” Stiles reminds him in return. He hears muffled laughter in the background, and Derek telling someone to shut up. “Look, my dad’s cool about things.”

“Right.” Derek is quiet for a long moment, the sounds murmuring just beyond Stiles’s hearing. He tries to just breathe evenly and hope he hasn’t scared Derek off and broken the entire plan.

“So. Monday.”

“Monday,” Derek echoes, and the phone clicks silent.

Stiles sets his aside, figuring he doesn’t need to worry about texts any time soon. This is it. Showtime’s coming up all too soon, and he has the weekend to get ready to play the part without making a complete idiot out of himself. At least it seems like Derek’s sister (he’s not sure if it’s one or both of them) is on his side. That’s something. Right?


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles hears a car roar up to the curb outside, but by the time he can make it to the top of the stairs from his room, his dad is already at the front door pulling it open. He grips the rails and half slides down the stairs, half jumps, calling out, “Dude. I thought you’d be later.”

“We drove through the night. Less traffic, especially this time of year.” The woman standing in the doorway looks like Derek only… she’s smiling. A bright flash of a grin that makes Stiles uneasy, like she might bite. When she flashes teeth, he swears her eyes flash red as well, and he takes an involuntary step back. “I’m Laura,” she says, hand held out. “Derek’s older sister. And you must be Sheriff Stilinski. I think I remember you.”

The Sheriff takes her hand in both of his, clasping it firmly. “It’s been a long time, but I remember you as well. You look like your mother.” He pulls the door wide, ushering her in, along with the smaller girl standing behind her. Stiles thinks she might be about his age, maybe a year older, and her expression is as tight and cautious as Derek’s usually is.

“We haven’t been back since then,” Laura says. “I’m sure you understand.”

“I don’t,” Stiles mutters under his breath, and the younger girl—Cora, he thinks, right?—glares at him. Stiles shrugs in response.

“Derek’s bringing things in,” Cora says, her lips pursed as she turns her back to look at the pictures on the wall.

Okay. Controlling older sister, anti-social younger sister, Dad somehow knows them, and Derek’s avoiding the house. It’s a _great_ start to the holiday. Fantastic. Wonderful.

Stiles is _so_ fucked, and not in a good way. It’s going to fall apart before dinner time.

“I’ll… go help.”

“You do that,” Cora mutters. There’s a soft growl from somewhere; Stiles’s eyes go wide at the way Cora seems to turn inward as soon as the sound cuts off. He has no idea what to make of any of it, and quickly darts through the door.

Derek is taking more luggage out of the back of a Camaro than Stiles thought could fit into one. “Dude, you have a Camaro?”

“My sister’s car,” he says. “I thought we should bring mine, but no, she wanted to get out on the highway and _let her stretch her legs_.” Stiles can almost hear the quotes around the phrasing, and he has to laugh at Derek’s eye roll.

“Does she have a name?” Stiles hesitates before touching the sleek black hood. Because _damn_ that car is in good shape.

“Esmerelda, and she’s a bitch.” Derek closes the trunk with a thunk. “The car. Not my sister.” He shoots a look at the house. “Scratch that. Laura’s a bitch too, but I mean that as a compliment.”

“Your family is officially not what I was expecting.” The words slip out before Stiles means them too, and he rubs a hand through his hair as he tries to figure out how to fix that. “I mean. You all seem close. And your sisters seem nice.”

Derek must hear the lie in that adjective. “You’ll like them when you get to know them. And yeah, we’re close.” Derek pushes a suitcase towards Stiles before lifting the other two, a backpack slung on his back, a bag over his shoulder, and another backpack left lying on the curb.

Stiles quickly shoulders the remaining backpack before tugging at the suitcase. “Rocks. Someone has packed rocks.”

“Cora’s shoes,” Derek says, deadpan. “And we need to go shopping. We didn’t bring gifts.”

“You didn’t need to bring gifts. This is—” Stiles stumbles to a halt because he can’t just say _this is fake_ while he’s standing on the curb by his house. But it isn’t _real_ and he can’t expect Derek and his sisters to randomly shower gifts on his family. “It’s just a family thing. I guess. My small family and you and your sisters.”

“My small family, too.” Derek walks away with those words. “And yes, we’re shopping tomorrow.”

Stiles is left with his mouth hanging open and an overly large suitcase. He manages to drag it inside the house (and _damn_ , it’s hot following Derek and that ass and how the hell is he carrying all that so easily?) and drops it just inside the door. There are voices upstairs, and he figures his dad is showing the girls the guest room. “So. All the bedrooms are upstairs. I mean. We should take these up.”

It’s just too blunt to say _you can sleep with me_ even though he said as much over the phone.

“Get your ass up here, Der!” Cora yells down. “John says you’re sleeping in Stiles’s room but if you guys have sex, we do _not_ want to hear it. And I need my stuff because I reek and need a shower!”

“Your sister is blunt.” Stiles knows his cheeks are bright red.

“Very.” Derek snorts. “Let’s get this upstairs. She’ll be quiet while she’s in the shower at least. Where’s the nearest Starbucks?”

“Are you planning on leaving us here?” Laura comes down the stairs and takes one of the bags from Derek’s shoulder, along with a suitcase. “Because if you are, bring me back a tall caramel latte.” She cocks her head. “Cora wants three of the mini scones if they have them, or an apple fritter if they don’t. She says she doesn’t care what kind of coffee, but you know she only cares if they have mocha and she wants it extra light, with whip. You should get donuts. Or bagels.”

“My dad’s—”

“Right here, Stiles.” And he is, right there at the top of the stairs, arms crossed. “This week the diet’s off. If I promise no red meat, you’ll keep quiet about the sugar, right?”

Stiles sighs. “I just want to keep you around, Dad. You and me against the world, and all that, but fine. No red meat, and I won’t whine if you eat every Christmas cookie that you see.” He makes a mental note to call the Argents and the McCalls and ask them not to bring _too_ many. Just in case.

“Top of the stairs and to the left for me and Cora,” Laura says, turning on her heel. “Stiles is to the right, next to the bathroom. Isn’t it nice we don’t have to share a wall?”

Stiles can’t pinch his nose, not while lugging the suitcase up the stairs, but he wants to. Derek _must_ have told them the truth. They _have_ to know this is fake, right? He turns left at the top of the stairs because Derek has gone to his room with the remaining suitcase and is standing there in the doorway. “Nothing in there will bite,” he says quickly. “I made sure it’s clean.”

He sets the things he has down in the guest room, waves at Derek’s sisters, and quickly backs out of their room so he can go meet Derek who is _still_ standing in that doorway. “I mean, I know it’s not much. And um…” he lowers his voice to a whisper. “You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Derek turns to look at him, expression blank. “Why would we do that?” His voice is low, but not _quiet_. Stiles is positive that everyone down the hall can probably still hear, and he just shakes his head, not wanting to get into this discussion in front of his dad who somehow wholeheartedly believes that this incredibly hot guy would actually be dating Stiles.

He starts to nudge the door shut, then remembers his dad’s first rule of dating and leaves it open. “I just don’t want—”

“It’ll be a little tight, but we’ll make it work.” Derek drops his bag on the floor near the bed. “It’s wider than your bed back in the dorm, right?”

Every word of that sentence is true, but the implication is utterly false. Stiles’s heart is racing, his cheeks flushed at the idea of Derek pressed up against him in the bed. Or him pressed up against Derek, waking up in the morning and oh my God, Derek is going to be there when he has morningwood. This is not going to work. This is never going to work. He has to _say_ something…

He opens his mouth, fully intending to make a point out loud, but his protest is swallowed by Derek’s lips pressing against his, cheek rubbing his skin and leaving a bit of stubble-burn behind. Instead of words, Stiles moans, then flushes even more, embarrassed at the sound that actually came out of him. Derek nips at Stiles’s lip, and Stiles lets his tongue tip peek out, touch Derek for just a moment before he sweeps up, trying to catch another kiss and a low groan from Derek.

They are attached at only two points: mouth to mouth, and Derek’s hand fit at the base of Stiles’s skull, holding him in place. That doesn’t matter, though, because Stiles’s entire body is on fire, and honestly, if they were actually touching anywhere else, he _might_ go up in flames. As it is, he feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin at any moment.

The kiss breaks, and Derek steps back, a small smirk lifting one half of his mouth. “I didn’t get a chance to say hello.”

“Hello,” Stiles echoes. And that’s all he’s got. Anything else is gone. Fled. Burned up and lost because the English language is just too complicated right now.

“You promised me coffee!” Cora yells out. “Don’t start making out in the car and get distracted!” The bathroom door slams, and the noise shakes Stiles back to sense because holy _crap_ , he just actually kissed Derek Hale—or rather, Derek kissed _him_ —in the middle of his bedroom, and he’s… this is… it’s almost like it’s real.

Stiles blinks at Derek. “Coffee?”

“Starbucks,” Derek reminds him. “Mini scones. Coffee. Something for your dad.”

“Muffins,” Stiles says. Apparently he’s in one word mode. Maybe if he tries he can muster two at a time. “I’ll drive.”

“Good, because I don’t have a car and Laura would pitch a fit if I tried to take the Camaro.”

“Do _not_ even daydream about driving my Camaro,” Laura calls out. “I will kill you if you try.”

Derek shrugs and makes a face, spreading his hands as if to say _what can you do… sisters…_ And Stiles feels a laugh bubble up, only slightly hysterical because how is this suddenly his life?

He reaches out and grabs his keys off the nightstand. “Starbucks it is. The Jeep knows the way there, believe me. Although if you trust me, there’s a small indie coffee shop downtown that’s better. If you think your sisters can tolerate something different than what they asked for.”

Derek tilts his head, nodding a moment later. “Lead the way. It’s been years since I’ve been in Beacon Hills, and you know it better than I do now.”

Right, because there’s a question to still ask, especially about the part where somehow Derek’s sister actually knows Stiles’s dad. And hey, being trapped in a car might be the best time to do that. Maybe.

As plans go, maybe it isn’t the worst one Stiles has had.

On the other hand, it may not be the best, either.

#

They are halfway to the coffee shop when Stiles pulls up at a red light and glances over. Derek hasn’t said a word, although Stiles can see tension in the line of his jaw. “Thanks,” he finally says. “I mean… you’re helping me out here. Saving face with my friends. Coming out to my dad, which was a complete side effect of this plan. I hope it’s not causing you too much trouble with your sisters.”

“You’ll like them,” Derek replies, which isn’t actually an answer.

“If you’re planning on having a fight in a few days, I probably won’t need to get to know them. Unless Cora’s a history major, because then we should plan on spending some time together, because I could use a study buddy in my major,” Stiles says. He revs the engine lightly as the light turns and he eases into the intersection. There’s a lot of traffic because of the holidays. Two days before Christmas, and it seems like everyone is out and about, still hunting for gifts. Which reminds him. “And seriously, dude, you don’t need to get gifts, unless you meant for your sisters. But I figured you probably already shopped for them a long time ago. Oh fuck, I should get them something. It’s rude not to.”

“If you don’t act like you want to get to know them now, no one will believe we’re dating,” Derek says plainly, staring out the side window as he speaks. “They’re blunt, and Laura’s the kind of person who thinks everyone will do what she wants. Cora’s the baby, and she’s spoiled sometimes. And a biology major. She’s planning on going into physical therapy.” His fingers drum against the door, by the side of the window. “I’ve already got gifts for my sisters, but I don’t have anything for you or your dad. And it would look weird if I don’t give a gift to my boyfriend.”

Boyfriend.

That sounds so strange coming from Derek’s lips.

Stiles can’t talk when the traffic gets bad in downtown, concentrating instead on managing to get the Jeep through without hitting anyone crossing the street at random places. He spots a parking space and maneuvers himself into it, silent until the Jeep’s engine rumbles to a stop. He looks over and touches Derek’s shoulder. “Hey. Dude. I meant it when I said thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Derek turns to look at him, jaw tight. “This looks different.”

“How long has it been?”

“Ten years. Half Cora’s life now. I was fifteen, and Laura was sixteen.” His hand flexes where it lies against his thigh. “You were what, eight? Nine? You probably don’t even remember the fire. Your dad was the one who helped us get settled in foster care on the other side of the country.”

As soon as he says it, Stiles _does_ remember. “The fire out by the preserve. Your house was destroyed. Your family—”

“Exactly.” Derek pushes the door open. “There’s a reason why I don’t want to be in Beacon Hills, Stiles. There’s nothing here except an uncle in a nursing home who doesn’t even remember us and probably never will.”

Stiles spills out of the Jeep, slamming the door behind him, making sure the door is locked. “Okay. I mean, I get that. And we don’t have to talk about it again, since I’m guessing you don’t want to go digging into the past. I’m sorry, too. That happened—it happened right around Christmas, didn’t it? Well, like a month before or something? My mom… my mom was sick that year. She died the next spring.”

“I’m sorry.” Derek gives him a look, dark and hooded. “Can you stand to be in the same house?”

“It’s the only place I still feel her,” Stiles answers honestly. “Her things are in the attic, some of them are around the house. We’ve got her pictures. Sometimes I swear I can still smell her perfume in the guest room, because she loved to go in there and read where it was quiet. The only thing I don’t like is when I see the old hospital bed, because we bought it instead of renting it, and it got taken apart and put in the attic, and there’s a part of me that wonders if it’s waiting for one of us to get sick like she did. And I couldn’t take that. It’s why I make sure my dad stays healthy.”

One corner of Derek’s mouth quirks up. “The no red meat deal.”

“Exactly.” Stiles checks the passenger door of the Jeep out of reflex, then nudges Derek towards the coffee shop. “C’mon. Let’s get coffee and get back before Cora decides we’ve wandered off to do things we aren’t actually doing. Because as much as it would help my reputation for people to think we’re actually doing all of that, it’s kind of frustrating to be accused of things that aren’t happening.”

He can’t read the expression on Derek’s face, and he doesn’t really want to. Stiles just ignores it and goes in to the coffee shop, waving at Erica behind the counter. She turns away to make up his drink before he even orders, turning back just as Derek comes up behind him. One hand drops to Stiles’s hip and he manages not to flinch in surprise. Erica’s eyes go wide.

“Who’s tall dark and handsome here?” she asks, voice a shade too loud in the store. Stiles is sure every customer is looking at him, and he _knows_ Isaac and Boyd both are.

“Derek.” Stiles feels the rumble of Derek’s voice as he introduces himself. “We need some to go, plus an assortment box of pastries.” Derek shifts slightly, and fingers press into the spot right over Stiles’s hip bone, and fuck, because this is not the time for a boner. 

“What do you want in the assortment?” Erica’s words are all business, but her expression is a frown of curiosity, gaze raking over the two of them.

“Whatever you recommend,” Derek decides. “Big box of pastries. My sisters have good appetites, and I haven’t had breakfast yet. We just got in this morning.”

“You staying in town?” Erica reaches back and takes the coffee Isaac hands her without looking. Her nostrils flare when she passes it to Stiles, and her brow furrows. “You’re new.”

Stiles takes a sip of the coffee—too damned _hot_ , as usual—and watches Derek as he moves next to him, one hand still possessively around Stiles’s back. It’s almost like actually having a boyfriend. Derek’s expression is closed off as he looks at the board and reels off a list of coffee orders. When he finishes and smiles at Erica, it’s like seeing a stranger there. Sharp and biting and charming enough that the boner is most definitely back.

Kissing was a bad idea, because now Stiles wants to do it again. Preferably in private.

Derek turns to him and the smile grows into a smirk, like he can hear what Stiles is thinking.

Wouldn’t that be just his luck, if his TA was telepathic?

No, that’s not possible, because if he was, he’d have known about the stupid crush a long time ago. Since Stiles lost count of the number of random fantasies he’s had during class.

“We’re here until Friday,” Derek say easily. “Staying at the Stilinskis. You should come by.”

Wait. What?

Stiles looks between Derek and Erica. Is he _flirting_ with her? “It’s family time,” he says quickly.

“My family would like her family,” Derek says, and Stiles gets the feeling there’s something else happening in that statement. “So they should come by.”

“Here.” Boyd drops a box on the counter and shoves it towards them. He doesn’t even look at Stiles, glaring at Derek the entire time. In the background, Isaac kneads dough like he’s punching someone’s face.

Somehow going to his favorite coffee shop just started to feel like fight club. Not how Stiles planned to start his vacation.

“Okay, introductions.” He sucks in a quick breath, letting it out in a huff. “Derek, this is Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. They were in my class in high school, and now they run this coffee shop because the lady who owns it wants more vacation time. They’ve been working here forever, since we were sophomores. Guys, this is Derek, my—”

Erica doesn’t even let him finish. “Boyfriend. We can tell.” She looks them both up and down, then offers cheerfully, “Nail him before he strays, Stilinski.”

Oh my _God_.

Derek bares his teeth as Stiles’s skin goes bright red. “No need to worry,” Derek says, his voice low with a hint of a growl, and Erica… God _damn_ it, she _laughs_.

“Here you go.” She places the cups into a to-go tray, and pushes them towards Stiles. His dad’s is labeled, because of course they know what he likes since Stiles is in here to pick it up for him often enough. The others are labeled with what the cups actually contain. “We’ll be by tonight, then.”

Derek picks up the tray and shakes his head. “Actually, change of plans. We’ll be at the preserve tonight. After ten.”

“Preserve, after ten,” Erica echoes. “We’ll see you there.”

Stiles manages to wait until they’re in the car, the pastry box on the floor by Derek’s feet, and the to-go tray balanced on his knees. He clicks his own seatbelt into place, but doesn’t start the engine. His fingers are tight on the steering wheel. “What was that about?”

“What?” Derek is staring out the window again, and Stiles gets the feeling that he’s glaring at the coffee shop.

“You drove all night to get here, you just had some kind of weird showdown with the people in my coffee shop, and now we’re making plans to go meet them at night in the middle of the preserve? What is this?”

“You won’t be there.” Derek’s voice is low and flat. “This is a family thing.”

“Right.” Stiles leans forward, head against the steering wheel.

Derek’s head falls back with a small thunk and when Stiles twists his neck to glance over, he can see tight lines around Derek’s closed eyes.

“This is why I didn’t want to come back to Beacon Hills, Stiles.” Derek’s voice is low. “Let’s just get home. I’ll deal with this tonight, and you’ll get your fake boyfriend for the rest of the week. Don’t worry about it.”

It doesn’t work like that.

Stiles can’t _help_ but worry.

And he’s not going to let Derek go into this alone. Whatever _this_ is. He’ll get in touch with Scott and they’ll just… tag along to make sure things are okay. Just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I um... what? Plot? Whoops. I fail at fluffy holiday fare, but I promise, there WILL be fluff along the way. Hope you all enjoy, thank you for comments, go tell all your friends to come read (what, I love attention *grins*), and come visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

“How did dinner go with Derek and his sisters?” Scott slides into the passenger seat of the Jeep, yanking the door shut behind him. “Allison was over tonight, but she’s gone to Lydia’s now. Where did you say we’re going?”

“The preserve.” Stiles starts up again, heading down the street slowly. “I’m not sure exactly _where_ in the preserve, but we’ll figure it out when we get there.”

“Is there a reason why we’re going?” Scott pats his jacket, relaxing when he encounters the lump in his pocket that Stiles knows has to be his inhaler. “Because if you’re going to try to convince me to run at night, in the middle of winter, I’m going to say no.”

Stiles presses his lips together because he doesn’t have a great reason for this. It’s not like the time that he dragged Scott out there because his father was called out to look at a shallow grave that turned out to be dog bones. He shrugs and tries to pass it off like it’s nothing. “Derek flirted with Erica when we got coffee this morning, and now he’s going out to meet her in the preserve.” He leaves out the part about Derek taking his sisters since this way it actually sounds worse. _Way_ worse.

“Dude. Derek’s going to meet _Erica_ in the middle of the woods when he’s here to see _you_ for Christmas? Not cool.” Scott shakes his head. “What are we going to do when we find them?”

“Observe.” Stiles doesn’t have a plan. Well, he has a plan, but not a _plan,_ so they’ll have to figure it out as they go. And hey, Stiles is good at that. He can think on his feet. “I mean, my boyfriend’s meeting a hot blonde in the middle of the night in the woods. Something’s got to be going on, right?”

“Dude, I don’t blame you for being worried.” Scott glances at his phone, fingers tapping out a text. “But don’t you think you can trust Derek? I mean, how long have you guys been dating now?” He grins. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t tell anyone at the college. I know it could get him in trouble that you guys were together when he was still your TA.” He tilts his phone. “Allison says hi. She’s staying at Lydia’s tonight. They said they’re making cookies for tomorrow.”

Allison and Lydia are making cookies.

Huh.

Well, at least now Stiles is pretty sure he doesn’t have to worry about his dad eating too many of _those_ cookies, since neither Allison nor Lydia is really into baking. Or particularly good at it.

“Say hi back for me.” He makes a face. “Tell her to ask Lydia if Jackson’s coming with her tomorrow night. Because I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I still don’t like him.”

“He’ll be on his best behavior now that you’re friends with Lydia.”

“That’s what worries me.” They’re heading out of town now, down a long, lonely road. Stiles has been out here a number of times—where else could high school kids go to drink?—but never looking for someone. And he knows now that the guy he’s supposedly dating (but not actually dating) used to live out here, in the place that’s now burnt out ruins.

Maybe _that’s_ where they are. He didn’t _tell_ Erica where to go, but he implied something. Right? All that talk about family. When the turn off comes for the old Hale house, Stiles takes it without thinking.

“Change of plans?”

“No change.” Stiles parks his car next to a familiar Camaro, and Erica’s Mustang. “Just a good guess where they might be meeting. He’s Derek Hale, remember. One of _the_ Hales.”

“Oh. Whoa.” Scott steps out of the Jeep, looking around. “Where do you think they are? That place isn’t livable.”

“No, but obviously they started out here, and they’ve gone somewhere else. Maybe into the woods.” Stiles pushes his door shut as quietly as he can. There’s a howl in the distance that sends shivers down into his bones. “With the wildlife. Great.”

“Sounds like a wolf.”

“There aren’t any wolves in California, Scotty.” Stiles comes up behind him, patting him on the back. “Come on, we’re going into the woods.”

Ten minutes later, Stiles has to admit that trekking through the woods late at night is a lot less fun sober, and the periodic howling is definitely creepy. Scott’s already had to stop to lean back against a tree, eyes closed as he takes a puff from his inhaler. “Dude, if we don’t find them soon, we’ll bail, okay?” Stiles says quietly.

Scott waves a hand, holding up one finger until he can exhale again and speak. “No, dude, I’m fine. It’s just…” he touches his throat in the signal Stiles has known for years that means _can’t breathe dude, slow down_.

Stiles nods. If it were just for fun, he’d have them head back now. But Derek’s out here, and he wants to know what’s going on. Why meet in the woods? Why was he being so weird about Erica?

The howl comes again, closer this time, and Scott freezes. “Dude.”

“What?” Stiles turns to look at him and catches a flash of something in the darkness.

Something red… big red eyes… and a mouth… a huge fucking mouth with long teeth and a growl that shakes the world around them.

“Fuck.” Stiles backpedals quickly, throwing out a hand. “Dude. Run!”

#

Stiles doesn’t know exactly when he loses Scott. He’s not even sure he’s lost the _thing_ that was following them, but all of a sudden it’s quiet and Stiles skids to a halt in the leaves, trying to catch his breath. “Scott?” He doesn’t care anymore if Derek hears him. “Scotty! Where are you?”

He turns in place, trying to hear something. Anything. Right now, he wouldn’t mind if Derek caught him following, because at least that would be something _safe_.

“Scott?”

Stiles starts walking again, trying to retrace his path and figure out where they split off from each other. He remembers running full tilt through the woods, crashing through branches. Then he veered off and took a header down a hill, and suddenly he was on his own. He keeps calling Scott’s name quietly as he edges past looming branches, the path illuminated by the light of his phone.

“What are you doing out here, Stilinski?”

“Erica.” He stops in his tracks, holding his hands up. “Just… taking a walk.” Running for his life. Things like that. The usual.

“Got a beer for me?” She tilts her head, a smirk lighting her expression, and he has this sudden memory of what she was like before their senior year, when she was still quiet and hidden in the backs of the classroom. Erica Reyes doesn’t hide from anyone any more.

He wiggles his fingers. “No beers. Not even sure where I left my car at this point. Or my friend. Who I will now keep looking for, and I’m sure you’ve got friends around here too.”

“Not right now.” She takes two steps and she’s somehow _right there_ in his face, backing him up against a tree. “I’m all on my own. You’re on your own. We could be alone… together.” Her finger slides over his collar as her smile grows, teeth showing in a way that is just too predatory for his liking.

Her head tilts, and then she’s three steps back again, her hand falling to her side. She sighs. “Fine. But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Stiles swears her eyes flash yellow. He’s in the middle of blinking to clear his vision and when he looks again, she’s gone.

“Stiles!”

Shit. “Scott!” He can hear the pain, and more importantly, he can hear the wheeze in the sound of his name as Scott yells for him. Stiles cuts through the trees and spots him lying on the ground, one hand pressed against his side. “Holy fuck, is that blood?”

“Giant dog,” Scott wheezes. “Bit me.”

“Shit.” Stiles wraps his arm around Scott’s waist, helping him up. “Is that what was chasing us and howling?”

“Must’ve been wild.” Scott leans heavily on Stiles, holding on while he struggles to breathe. Stiles doesn’t try to move them, waiting until each breath evens out, getting a little less labored. Scott inhales roughly and holds it, letting it out with a sigh. “The thing was huge. It bowled me over and bit me, then something else growled and it ran away.”

“So you’re saying there’s more than one giant rabid dog in the preserve tonight?” Stiles takes a step, waits to see if Scott can keep up before he tries moving them again. They need to get back to the Jeep and get out of there. Get Scott to a hospital. Or at least get Scott home, because his mom’s a nurse and she can take a look at it, see if it’s really bad or just really bloody.

“Did you have to say _rabid_?”

“It’s just a phrase. It’s probably fine. I mean. Giant dogs attack humans randomly all the time, right? The wild ones, anyway.” Stiles keeps them moving, letting his body takes Scott’s weight as they walk. He’s not sure if they’re going in the right direction or not, and honestly, this might be the best moment for Boyd or Isaac to jump out at them. If they came here with Erica. Not because he really wants to see them, but because honestly, he _hopes_ they came out here with Erica, and he could use another person to help him with Scott.

But no.

Of course not.

Which probably means Erica’s here alone to meet up with Derek and God knows what happened and then she had the audacity to flirt with Stiles.

Wait. Was she _flirting_?

He has no idea what to think about any of it, least of all the giant and possibly—but hopefully not—rabid dog.

They stumble out of the woods into the dead and burnt space outside of the old Hale house. The Camaro and Mustang are both gone. Stiles breathes a quick sigh of relief before a shadow moves and he realizes: Derek is standing next to the Jeep.

“Get in.” Derek’s hands are in his pockets, his expression sour. There’s going to be an argument. Stiles can see it coming, but if he’s lucky, he can also stave it off until they’ve gotten Scott someplace safer than this.

“Planning on it.” Stiles yanks open the door. “Scott, you’re going to have to go in the back. You can stretch out there until I can get you to the hospital. Do you need another hit of your inhaler?”

Scott shakes his head. “Lost it, and I’m breathing better now. I don’t think I need the hospital.”

“Not for the asthma, dude, for the bite. Or did you forget that you’re bleeding?” Stiles wrestles Scott into the back seat, then points at the passenger seat for Derek.

“Where did you get bit?”

It’s funny how Derek doesn’t ask _what bit you_ , isn’t it? Stiles manages to stay still as Derek steps in close, looking over his shoulder while they both watch Scott yank up his shirt.

There is blood everywhere. The shirt has holes and pulls in it, rips from jagged teeth. Blood streaks Scott’s side, but the wound itself doesn’t look all that bad. They all stare at it, and Stiles can feel Derek’s breath on his neck, the rough huff of an inhalation without a word.

“It doesn’t look that bad,” Scott says.

“Take him home.” Derek’s voice is flat. “Take him home, let him sleep. Drink water, Scott. Take a shower. Get rest. You’ll be fine.”

“Don’t you think he should—”

“No,” Derek says, just as Scott insists again that he’s _fine_.

There really isn’t much else that Stiles can do other than take Scott home. He can’t force him to go to the hospital, not if he doesn’t think he needs to.

The car is silent when he starts it up, and Stiles doesn’t try to fill it with conversation. He’s pretty sure he’ll get an earful when Scott is out of the car, and he’s more than happy to wait until then for the fight.

#

“I told you I had to take care of something tonight.”

Stiles yanks the door closed, ignoring Derek as he twist the key in the ignition. “Yeah, thanks, my best friend seems fine. And thanks for backing me up on the whole hospital thing. If he gets rabies, or gangrene, it’ll be your fault, you know.” Now that Scott’s safely in his own house, Stiles is free to rage as much as he wants without him hearing.

“He’s not going to get sick from that bite.” Derek’s voice is low.

“How do you _know_ that?” Stiles throws his hands wide, just barely missing Derek’s shoulder. “You _don’t_ know that. You _can’t_ know that. Scott was bitten by some kind of insane wild dog and I’d say that his chance of things not going well are pretty damned good.”

Derek’s jaw goes tight. “Drive, Stiles. I don’t care where, just don’t go home. Not yet.”

“I don’t know why I ever wanted to date you in the first place,” Stiles mutters. “You’re bossy, annoying, growly, and sour-faced. Of course, when you smile you look like angels are singing and I’m pretty sure everyone wants to drop their pants, but that’s beside the point and kind of hard to remember when you’re bossing me around like an asshole.”

“Do you want to know what’s going on or not?” Derek snaps. “Because if you go home, I’m not telling you anything. This is between you and me right now, and you can figure out how to talk to Scott about it tomorrow. But this is not going to get said in your house, with my sisters listening.”

“We can have privacy in my house!”

“No, we _can’t_.” Derek’s face twists in frustration. “Trust me, my sisters will hear. No matter where we talk in that house, they will hear.”

“Dude, you are not making sense.” Stiles pulls out of the space in front of Scott’s house and starts driving, not really sure where he’s going. It’s midnight, he’s tired, and he has a feeling that his dad’s going to kill him unless Laura and Cora start making up excuses for him when they get back to the house.

This has not been the night he imagined when he first thought about Derek Hale staying at his house.

“My family died on the blood moon in November of 2003,” Derek finally says quietly. “It was a full moon, but it was also a lunar eclipse, and the hunters came in and killed them all. They ringed the house in mountain ash, and they poisoned them with wolfsbane, and they set fire to the rest. Laura was staying with friends, and Cora was at a sleepover birthday party, and I’d snuck out… if I hadn’t, I’d probably be dead too.”

Stiles blinks. “What?”

“Keep driving.”

Stiles does. It gives him time to process words that he feels like should make sense, but they don’t, no matter how many times he goes over them in his head. “Could you maybe try that explanation again? Because I’m missing something here.”

“Werewolves.” Derek’s tone is flat. “We’re werewolves. Erica’s a werewolf, and she wasn’t when I was a kid. She wasn’t born that way; someone made her. Someone she doesn’t want to talk about, and someone she doesn’t see much of from what we could figure out. But that someone is building a pack.”

“Werewolves.” Stiles’s fingers are tight on the steering wheel. “You do realize that we’ve veered off into fantasyland here, right?”

At the low growl, he glances to his right. He’s proud of the fact that he doesn’t scream.

Okay, maybe a squeak.

A very _loud_ squeak.

Stiles twists the wheel and comes to a rest at the side of the road, his heart hammering, hand pressed against his chest. “Holy fuck, you have big teeth. And fur. And you’re a fucking _werewolf_.”

As he watches, Derek suddenly becomes… Derek again. Hot as hell, glaring at Stiles. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

“It’s an important point to leave out until _now_.”

“I didn’t think we’d ever get to a place where you needed to know.”

Right, because this “relationship” is fake. False. Not real. Stiles pinches at the bridge of his nose as if that might somehow keep his headache away. “But I need to know now because…?”

Derek inhales roughly. “We met with Erica, Isaac and Boyd to discuss pack lines while we’re here in Beacon Hills. This used to be Hale territory, now they’re the only wolves in residence other than their alpha. We heard something while we were there, and Laura thought it was an omega. It wouldn’t be the first time one’s wandered in. But if that’s what you saw, and what bit Scott, then it’s not an omega. It’s an alpha.”

“Which means?”

“If Scott survives it, he’s going to be another werewolf.”

This is just too much. Stiles opens his mouth, fails to find words, and lets it snap shut again.

“We are just going to save that thought until tomorrow, and I will talk to him then,” Stiles says. “And you will talk to him. And if there is a training manual, you will make sure to get it out and provide it to my best friend, because this is _not_ what we signed on for.” Stiles jabs a finger at Derek. “If you hadn’t been in the preserve—”

“If you hadn’t followed me—”

“If you hadn’t been flirting with Erica and then went to meet her, I wouldn’t have had to!” Stiles protests. Which makes no sense since it’s all fake anyway, but it’s all he’s got.

Derek’s hand flexes where it rests on his lap. “Laura thinks it’s funny that you’re jealous. Cora thinks it’s pitiful, but she’s cynical. One of these days she’s going to figure out how to trust someone.”

“Why would Laura think I’m—oh.” Stiles stares at him, not sure he’s gone to the right place with his thoughts. “They think it’s real? They actually think _you_ would date _me_?”

“I haven’t exactly dated much since the fire,” Derek says dryly. “Laura’s flat out thrilled, which is why she insisted on this trip, even though it’s Beacon Hills and not exactly filled with happy holiday memories. Cora is sure it’s destined to fail, considering you’re a human and I’m a werewolf. Neither of them has any idea that it’s fake.”

Stiles blinks. “Holy crap. I’m not sure which is less believable: werewolves, or the idea that you’re dating me on purpose.”

“Except we’re not.”

“Right, we’re not.” But the pressure has just ramped up, because Stiles thought he only had to fake it in front of _his_ friends and family, not Derek’s sisters, too. He swallows hard, trying to parse everything that’s been said through a brain that is feeling fuzzier and fuzzier by the moment. “Is Cora going to rip my throat out when we break up at the end of the week?”

Derek snorts. “I’ll try to hold her back. Unless you break my heart, then I can’t promise anything.”

“Dude, I can’t imagine anyone’s heart breaking over me.” Stiles shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure you’re safe. But we should get home before my dad kills me for being out so late. And you need to find that werewolf.”

“And tell Laura that the omega’s actually an alpha, and we have a major problem.”

Scott. Right. Scott. Fuck, how could Stiles forget about that?

He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Scott: _Dude. Text me back first thing in the morning. Important news._

It’s the best he can do for the night. For now he needs to focus on getting home and getting into bed without any awkward confrontations, or weird situations because he’s sleeping with a guy he barely knows.

Whose sisters can hear everything in the house.

Stiles is pretty sure that he’s well beyond awkward and into surreal by now. The rest of the week can only get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, and good morning! I think I'm along for the rollercoaster ride on this story as much as you are. Hope you are enjoying it! If you want to find me, feel free to come poke me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).
> 
> For anyone curious, this is being posted about as fast as I'm writing it. I'm trying to finish it up while I'm still on vacation and can crank out lots of words per day!


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles wakes up to a heavy weight across his chest and a whuff of breath tickling his throat. He rolls over, shoving his ass back against the warm body behind him, and something holds on tight, fingers clutching in his shirt.

And he’s hard.

Very _very_ hard.

His eyes open wide, blinking in the daylight. Oh fuck, it’s Christmas Eve and he just woke up in bed with Derek Hale. Who happens to be a werewolf and wait… there’s…

His phone chimes and Stiles groans.

Last night Scott was bit by an alpha werewolf. Yep. That’s the thing he’s forgetting.

This can’t be his life now. It doesn’t even make _sense_.

He reaches out, trying not to disturb the body behind him, hand patting the nightstand until it curls around his phone and he can drag it back. Yep. That’s Scott texting him.

_Why were you texting me last night instead of banging your boyfriend?_

Stiles snorts as he taps back. _I can’t believe you just said that. And trust me, it’s important. How’s the bite?_

“Just call him,” Derek mutters, his lips brushing the back of Stiles’s neck. “I’m awake.”

“What about—” Stiles isn’t sure how to ask the question without actually asking the question, but he’s pretty sure he remembers a _don’t talk about this at home_ part of the conversation last night.

Derek goes silent, his breath hot as it slides in and out of his lungs, drifting over Stiles’s skin. This is _not_ helping the morning wood at all, but Stiles fights with it, staying perfectly still. “Cora’s in the shower. Laura’s downstairs talking to your dad about animal attacks. Talk fast; neither of them is paying attention.”

“Your sister really likes showers.” Stiles shakes his head and presses the speed dial for Scott. “Yo, dude.” He keeps his voice low. “So how is it?”

“Like it never happened, dude.” Scott’s voice is a hush. “Seriously, it looked way worse than it was. The dog must’ve bled on me, because there’s nothing there on my side.”

“Tell him we’ll meet him somewhere,” Derek murmurs.

And that’s creepy, having someone listen in on his phone call. “Good, good, that’s really good news. Except, sort of not. Hey, buddy, could you meet me at the park this morning?”

“Running?”

Derek snorts and Stiles smiles at the heavy sigh in Scott’s voice. “Yeah, sure, we’ll do two miles. I’ll get Derek to join us. I’ll even bring you coffee.”

“And a muffin?”

“And whatever’s downstairs.” Stiles isn’t sure if anything’s left, but that had been a big box of pastries they bought yesterday. Hopefully he could grab something. “Don’t worry, you won’t starve.”

“Feels like I might. I could eat a horse this morning. Twenty minutes?”

Stiles does a hasty calculation, strikes out the idea of showering since they’re probably going to have to at least start out running to make a show of it, but then adds back in time for coffee and something to eat. “Make it thirty. I’ve got…oh _God_.” He squeaks as Derek shifts, pressing in close behind him, and that can _not_ be what he thinks it is rubbing against his ass. No really. It can’t.

“Thirty,” Scott agrees readily. “And dude. Shower. Okay? I mean. If you’re… just clean up.”

Stiles flushes warmly as he turns off the phone and tosses it onto the nightstand. He groans and covers his eyes with one hand, not sure how to bring up the issue without saying something Derek doesn’t want his sisters to hear.

“How far away is this park?” Derek’s mouth brushes the skin above Stiles’s collar, then a slow rub of morning scruff as he rubs his cheek against him. Stiles bites back a groan, because _this is not real_.

“Ten… ten minutes. Quick drive. Not near the malls, so there shouldn’t be panicked shoppers around this morning. Derek, we don’t have time—” That’s the best way he can think to say _we shouldn’t_ and _we don’t have to_ because those words would be too blunt.

Teeth catch the lobe of his ear, tugging gently until Stiles can’t help the moan. His hips rock, thrusting against nothing, desperate for friction. “You need to smell like me,” Derek whispers, words barely a breath against his ear. “They think we’ve been together for months.”

Stiles almost chokes on the words, “Same here. I mean, my friends aren’t going to _smell_ me. But yes. Months. Still. If you keep doing that…”

Derek laughs, a low huff of warmth. “Just from _this_ , Stiles? No one would question us then.”

“It’s… you don’t have to…” Stiles feels strangled, like his words aren’t making any sense.

_“God_ , Derek.” Cora pounds on the door, yelling out as she does so. “That bed squeaks. John _trusts_ you two in there so cut it out. Get your lazy asses out of bed and into the shower.”

“Sounds like a great idea.” Derek’s hand slides to Stiles’s hip as he calls back, loud enough to easily be heard. “If we do it at the same time, we’ll be down for breakfast faster.”

Stiles whines at the thought, because how is he supposed to get _that_ image out of his head now?

Cora’s laugh is low and husky. “Get moving and go shop. As long as you’re back before dinner, and don’t abandon us with your boyfriend’s friends, I don’t care how long you take. And Laura would say you need to get laid, so just _go_. But don’t do it here.”

Another low whine, because the worst part is that it’s _never_ going to happen. But at the same time, this is providing jerk-off material for the next several months.

Derek pats his hip. “Up you go, then. Hit the shower, and I’ll get my turn after.”

“Give me five minutes.” Stiles figures he can manage to be presentable in that much time. “We need to get out the door. Lots of _shopping_.” He rolls over to face Derek, breath catching because _that_ just puts things too close to each other for comfort.

“And if you don’t get out of this bed right now,” Derek tells him—and Stiles is almost able to believe it’s the truth, “You’re not getting out for another half hour, and Cora will be yelling at us again. So go.”

Stiles has his hand against Derek’s chest, and he wants to kiss him. But that’s not what’s between them, no matter how much they need to fake this for everyone else. His tongue darts out, licks his own lips. He starts to pull back when Derek catches him, pulls him in and rubs against him, cheek to cheek, leaving his skin red and his lips hungry. When Stiles gives in and nudges for the kiss, Derek takes it, mouth opening to let Stiles in.

“You’ve only got four minutes left,” Derek tells him when the kiss breaks. He touches the side of his nose, and Stiles guesses what he means by that: now Stiles smells like him.

They’ll pass, and no one will be the wiser.

On the other hand, if Stiles doesn’t get things taken care of, he’s going to have a tough time walking all day.

#

“I’m a _what_?”

Stiles pushes both his hands through his hair. “I have said this three times, Scotty; I am not saying it again. Can you just _try_ to believe me? Because last night something ripped you apart and today there’s nothing there except dried blood. Doesn’t that even strike you as odd?”

“You’re talking about the impossible, Stiles.”

“Healing overnight is impossible, too,” Stiles reminds him. “The fact that you’ve already run two miles with me without once stopping for your inhaler is not exactly normal either.”

Scott slows, and Stiles stops with him, glad for the break. Scott doesn’t even seem to be breathing hard, and Stiles is already wiped out and glad Derek let him talk to Scott on his own so his physical weakness isn’t on display.

“I asked Derek to bring the handbook, but it doesn’t seem like there is one. You’re going to have to learn from another werewolf, and you’ve got two choices: the Hales, or the coffee shop pack.”

“I can’t believe you’re calling them that.”

“Erica, Isaac and Boyd is a mouthful, and they won’t say who their alpha is, so it’s the best I can do.” Stiles gulps down a long drink of water. “Technically, you’re supposed to be a part of your alpha’s pack. I got the short version on the way over. But since your alpha seems to be an omega, which so far I understand to mean is someone who doesn’t have a pack and is pretty much flouting the wolfish rules, that’s not your best idea. Unless you want to run wild and be hunted.” He holds up his hand. “We’ll get to hunters when you get to talk to Derek. Here’s the most important part: we haven’t told Laura what happened yet.”

“Why is that important?”  

“Because Laura’s my alpha.” Derek catches up, coming up close behind Stiles, one hand on his shoulder. His hand twists, fingers brushing Stiles’s cheek. “We need to find out who bit you and deal with him, before he bites anyone else. And before he kills anyone else. Your dad was saying there’s been an increase in animal attacks in Beacon Hills in the last few months. If Erica and her pack aren’t going to deal with the problem, then we will before we leave.”

“I need to tell Allison.” Scott has his phone in his hand and half a message tapped out before Stiles manages to stop him.

“Whoa. No. Not yet. Talking about werewolves is _not_ going to happen until we figure this out.” Stiles can just see it spiraling out of control with Allison and Lydia and Jackson and suddenly the entirety of Christmas becoming about _werewolves_ and he doesn’t even want to know how pissed off Laura would be about that. He doesn’t even _know_ Laura and he still thinks she’d be angry.

“Who’s Allison?” Derek’s hand slides over Stiles’s shoulder, finding its way down his arm in slow movement until his hand fits over Stiles’s hand, their fingers tangling together.

They’re holding hands.

This really shouldn’t be as big a deal as it is, but fuck, Stiles could get hard just from the way this feels with Derek standing behind him, solid and warm, and holding on.

He is _so_ fucked.

Except not in a helpful, good, or entertaining way.

“My girlfriend.”

“Who doesn’t need to know.”

“Your boyfriend told _you_ that _he’s_ a werewolf,” Scott points out.

“After _you_ were bitten! Trust me, that bit of information was completely confidential before that, although looking back, it explains a _lot_ about his sisters and them answering things they weren’t asked.” The idea that they are listening to everything still disturbs Stiles. “Look, we just…” He glances back at Derek, then at Scott. “We need to get through Christmas, I guess. Christmas Eve tonight, with everyone, and then Christmas Day tomorrow with just the family. He’s not going to go crazy or anything and attack someone, is he?”

“Full moon was last week.” Derek’s fingers tighten on his. “Laura will want to talk to him tonight, though. How many people will be there?”

“Scott and his mom, Allison and her dad, Lydia and Jackson, plus all of us.” Stiles gestures for each person. “Allison’s mom died during our senior year, so Christmas is still rough for her. Scott and his mom are going over there for Christmas day.”

“Lydia’s the one who—” Derek stops talking as soon as Stiles squeezes his hand tightly, because _Lydia will kill you for lying_ would open up a whole can of worms that he can’t deal with right now. Fake boyfriend issues come _way_ below werewolf in the net scheme of things. Worry about the big things first, blow up the lies later. It’s a plan, anyway.

“Lydia’s the girl I was in love with during high school, and now we’re best friends. Jackson’s her douchebag boyfriend,” Stiles explains quickly. “Don’t worry, she never loved me back.”

Derek pulls Stiles closer to him, fitting them together neatly, back to front, and presses his lips to Stiles’s throat. “I’m not worried.”

“I don’t need to see this.” Scott looks anywhere but at them. “If we’re done with the revelations, and we’re sure I’m not going to kill anyone, can I go home to get cleaned up and ready for tonight? I was hoping to spend the day with Allison beforehand.”

Derek sends him off while Stiles tries to bring the English language back to mind. He finally manages to ask, “Are you scent marking me?”

“Constantly,” Derek says, his tongue just behind Stiles’s ear. “Do you mind?”

“Only from the point of view where my balls are going to be a permanent shade of blue,” Stiles mutters. “But no, really, go on licking my throat. Get the scent thing done so we can be normal when we get back to the house. Or indulge in typical PDA while we’re shopping. Which we should finish now, since there will be guests in my house in not all that many hours.”

It’s only when they get back to the Jeep and Stiles glances in the mirror that he realizes he hasn’t just been scent marked, he’s been _marked_. There’s a reddish-purple spot just above his collarbone; when he touches it with his fingertips, Derek smirks, and Stiles knows it isn’t any kind of an accident.

At least people are going to believe them.

It’s just going to be frustrating as hell along the way.

#

“So.” Cora perches on the couch, feet on the cushions, sitting on the back of it so she can lean over Stiles. “What did Derek get me for Christmas?”

“I don’t know, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you, because he’d hear me doing it and then I’d be in trouble,” Stiles tells her, never taking his eyes from the TV screen, video game controller cradled in his hands. Zombies are tough things to kill, and he really wants to finish this level before everyone starts arriving for the evening and Dad makes him put the game away. 

She leans in closer, one hand on his shoulder, fingers curling over the curve of it, fingernails close to his collarbone. “So he did tell you,” Cora whispers. “We wondered how long it would take. And you didn’t run. I’m impressed.”

Stiles risks a quick glance down and yep, those are claws. Actual _claws_ pressed up against his collarbone, right where Derek marked him earlier. Great combination—potential death and love bites. He makes a face and kills a zombie. “Yep, this is me, not running. Go listen in on him talking to Laura if you want to know why he bothered to tell me. Because it wasn’t actually about me.”

“Bitter?”

His thumb presses the pause button a little too hard as he sets the controller aside. Cora’s smirk is bright, her eyes flashing yellow when he looks at her. “That my boyfriend didn’t tell me a life-altering secret? No, I’m not _bitter_. Frustrated, yes. Irritated. He could have trusted me a little sooner with that tidbit of information, but no, I’m not _bitter_. Fuck, Cora, what is it that you have against us being together?”

It’s funny how the words come out so easily, like it isn’t just a game. 

Her claw taps once against his collarbone, then she withdraws, clasping her hands together, nails normal and tipped in blue polish. “I don’t want to see him hurt,” she says plainly. “And he’s been hurt before by people like you.”

“He dated another guy with ADHD and too much energy and a love of video games?” Stiles picks up the controller again and pokes the game back to life. He can take out his irritation on shooting things. “Or maybe he dated another student last year. Or someone whose friend…” He bites the words off, because really, that part’s still technically not public knowledge.

“Human,” Cora hisses. “You’re _human_. You’re not like us, you don’t get us, and when the full moon comes around you won’t be able to deal with it and you’ll realize you’re dating a monster. Humans like you _destroy_ monsters. Either that or you’ll be begging for it, wanting the bite, wanting to be just like us and you know what? That _kills_ people.”

Stiles’s jaw sets. He drops the remote, reaches out and grabs Cora’s wrist, wrapping his fingers around it and digging in when she tries to pull away. “You and me are going to talk,” he says, voice low.

“I could rip your throat out now, rather than waiting for you to break his heart,” she whispers.

“I am _not_ going to break his heart,” Stiles responds. “Let’s go for a walk. Get this over with before everyone else is here and we have to put on smiley faces and pretend to be friends for Derek’s sake.”

Because God _damn_ it, Stiles will not fight with Derek’s sister on Christmas Eve. Pretend or not, that’s just not the way to deal with family.

He tugs once, then lets her go as he grabs a hoodie and shrugs into it. When he opens the door and points, she heads out, and he follows, stalking past her and down the street. He waits until they’re a decent distance from the house before talking.

“I’ll start,” he says, hands shoved into his pockets and shoulders hunched. “Last night I followed Derek out to the preserve because he was meeting up with Erica.”

“I’m aware; that Jeep is recognizable.” She smirks. “Jealous?”

“A bit. If he’d bothered to explain the whole wolf pack thing ahead of time, I wouldn’t have been there, though. And I wouldn’t have dragged Scott out with me.” He looks at Cora. “My best friend was bit by a rogue alpha last night. That nightmare thing you guys thought was an omega was actually an alpha. The bite healed. Scott’s fine. Except for the part where apparently he’s now going to go fuzzy and…” Stiles mimes sharp teeth with his fingers. “And now he needs a whole pack thing, so Derek’s telling Laura and hopefully that’ll work out. Plus, y’know, rogue alpha to go hunt down, I guess.”

“That bites,” Cora says, rolling her eyes when Stiles glares at her for the pun.

She spreads her hands. “Look, I’m sorry about your friend, but you don’t even know what you’re dealing with. There are hunters, and you’re lucky your friend’s even alive. There are people who don’t survive the bite. You think they’re going to be a part of your world, then they start spewing black shit and they die, and it’s horrible. Derek hasn’t had much luck in the love department, and if getting rid of you—because you’re _human_ —before he gets hurt keeps him happy, that’s good enough for me. He’ll get over you faster before he’s had a chance to get invested.”

“He’ll be fine,” Stiles says quietly. She hasn’t given any details, not really, but he gets the feeling that Derek lost a human to the bite once, and he already knows about the hunters and his family.

“Do you love him?”

That is not the question he wants to hear. Stiles feels the thump of his heart in response, nerves ramping up, making his hands shake. “I don’t know,” he says, because it’s the closest thing to true. And the stupid thing is, he’s had this crush for so damned long and he didn’t even know Derek then. He was just a growly, annoying, overly hot TA for a class Stiles hated. But now he gets the feeling that he _could_ fall for him, if he lets himself. If it weren’t so fucking _complicated_. “I could,” he says quietly, gaze dropping as his shoulders hunch inward. “I really could.”

Something bumps his shoulder, and when he looks up, Cora does it again, a hard, friendly nudge. “Good.” She tilts her head. “Does your friend have a Porsche? Or an SUV?”

“Jackson’s the Porsche, and the SUV is probably Scott and his mom.”

She hooks her arm in the crook of Stiles’s elbow. “Then we’d better get back, because things are about to get very interesting. I hope you’re ready for it.”

“Is my dad going to find out about all this?” Because that’s the one thing that hasn’t entered Stiles’s mind yet, that it could blow up right in front of everyone else and suddenly he’s in over his head with werewolves _and_ an upset father.

“Possibly,” Cora says. “It all depends on how Laura reacts.”

They get back just in time to see Scott and his mom disappearing into the house, while Jackson and Lydia linger outside. The Argents’ car is just pulling up, Allison spilling out of the back before it comes to a complete stop. “Did I see Scott going in already?” she asks, arms full of tins that she hands to Lydia. “I wanted him to meet my aunt. She surprised us by coming in for the holiday so we brought her along, I hope that’s okay.”

“More the merrier,” Stiles responds because really, he’s already dealing with werewolves and assholes, so really, what’s one more person at the table?

He almost doesn’t register the soft growl next to him, but he does notice the press of claws against his wrist, holding on tightly. Allison’s dad gets out of the car along with another woman who looks a little like him but a lot younger, her smile wide and sharp. “Hello, Mr. Argent,” Stiles says politely, wincing when the claws dig in just a bit more. “This is Cora, my boyfriend’s sister.”

“This is Kate, my younger sister.”

Kate holds out one hand, and Stiles takes it, because what else can he do? “It’s a pleasure to be invited,” Kate says, her smile going wide. “I can tell that we’re going to have so much _fun_ tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and the plot continues. Thank you all for being here, and for commenting, and I hope you are enjoying the story! Don't forget, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com), too.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles would ask Cora what’s going on, but she’s already gone. As soon as Kate speaks, she darts inside in an inhuman show of speed that leaves him wondering what the _hell_ ever happened to secrecy. Kate’s laugh sounds delighted, and Stiles gives Allison a look like _what the hell just happened_ and she only shrugs in response.

Allison holds up the remaining tin in her hand after giving the rest to Jackson and Lydia. “Cookies.”

“Sugar heals all ills?” Stiles asks with a wry smile. “Thanks, Allison. I’m sure my dad will hide them from me until the tin is empty. C’mon, let’s go inside.” He motions for everyone else to follow him, because really, this is already the best Christmas Eve ever, and he has a feeling it’s only going to get better. 

When he steps through the door, Derek and Cora are standing on one side of the room, curled together in hushed conversation. His dad sits with Melissa McCall on the sofa, and Scott and Laura are nowhere to be seen. Stiles hopes _that_ is going well, at least. “Dad, Allison brought her aunt along.”

“There’s always room at the table.” Dad comes to his feet, one hand held out, welcoming the Argents and Lydia and Jackson.

It almost looks friendly, except that Stiles can feel the energy in the room. And as Scott comes back down the hall, he clearly hears the question, “What stinks?”

“Argents,” Laura says, while Stiles whispers, “Tension,” and wonders if Scott can hear him.

Does tension have a smell anyway? He gets the feeling it must. It has a feel: thick and hot and angry, rolling off of Derek in waves. And it doesn’t look like he’s the only one noticing.

“Is there a problem?” Dad asks.

“Look, we didn’t mean to cause any trouble by bringing Kate along, and if it’s going to make things stressful to have someone unexpected, we can leave,” Allison offers. “We just haven’t seen her in ages, and she thought coming to visit might make it easier, since my mom…”

Scott hurries to greet her, wrapping his arms around her and giving her a kiss. “Of course it’s fine. It’s just no one knows anyone.” He gives a look to Stiles.

Right. Introductions. 

“Actually, we do.” Kate crosses the room, stopping right in front of Derek. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? You look good.” Her fingers drift over his chest, skimming the fabric of his shirt. “ _Very_ good. I didn’t think we’d ever see you again.”

“We shouldn’t have come back to Beacon Hills,” Derek growls, and Stiles can swear he sees a hint of teeth. No, not a hint. Those are teeth. Those are definitely teeth, and Derek’s eyes flash blue as he clenches his hands and Cora holds his shoulder, tugging him back.

“We’re here now, and we’ll be fine, won’t we, Kate?” Laura asks, slipping between them and nudging Kate back without touching her at all. “This is a _family_ night, right? Your family. Our family. Hosted by the Stilinski family. So put everything aside and we’ll just get along.”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen each other?” Dad asks, and Stiles mentally face palms because he’s pretty sure that’s not the right question.

“What has it been, Chris?” Kate glances back over her shoulder at her brother. “Nine years? Ten? I think it’s been ten years since the Hale house burned. We didn’t get to see the kids before they were whisked away.” Her voice is light, dancing along Stiles’s nerves. He doesn’t like her. He doesn’t like her at all, and he hates the way Derek looks twisted up inside to see her.

All it takes is a glance at Cora for her to nod and let Stiles edge in next to Derek, twining their fingers together. It gets him a startled look, then Derek leans into him, pressing weight against his shoulder, and Stiles pushes back to let him know he’s there. This is his fault, somehow, and this is all he can do to fix it at the moment.

“Maybe we should settle in for dinner,” Melissa suggests, and Allison rushes to grab Kate and pull her into the dining room where the makeshift table has been set up. Somehow they manage to get all of Stiles’s friends at one end of the table, and the parents at the other end, with Laura and Derek bridging the space between the two groups. Stiles finds himself wedged in between Derek and Cora.

He feels a touch against the side of his leg, and when he glances at Cora, she mouths a word at him. It takes him two tries before he’s sure he’s understood that she’s said _hunter_. It sends chills through him, particularly considering the couple sitting right across from him at the table.

“How long have you two been dating?” Laura asks, looking at Scott and Allison.

“Almost three years now,” Scott says with that same stupid smile he always gets, and has ever since the first day he met Allison. “She and her folks moved here halfway through our sophomore year, and we’ve been together since then.”

“You’re forgetting Isaac your senior year,” Lydia points out.

“Or Jackson, sophomore year,” Allison adds.

Scott kisses her cheek. “None of that matters since you’re with me now.”

“This is what I have had to put up with,” Stiles says under his breath. “These two winning awards for cutest couple, and Lydia and Jackson have power couple nailed. Me, I’m the perpetually single guy.”

“Not now,” Cora points out.

Right. Not now. Right this second, Stiles is officially supposedly dating Derek Hale, who is a werewolf possibly being hunted by Kate Argent and _ow_ , his head hurts. “Right, not now,” he echoes. “Now I can annoy Scott as much as he annoys me.”

“Dude, I do not need to see your PDA with your boyfriend, no matter how hot he is. Brothers don’t do that in front of each other.”

“I have been telling you that for years with Allison but you have not listened to a word I said,” Stiles retorts. “So if Derek wants to lick my tonsils in front of you, then I am okay with that.”

“Not now, Stiles.”

Derek’s voice is so low that Stiles almost misses it. He looks over and realizes that Derek has a plate full of food—lasagna, meatballs, green beans, salad… a little of everything—but nothing’s been touched. Stiles drops his hand to rest on Derek’s thigh. “You okay, big guy?”

“Is this how it is now? Fascinating.” Kate’s voice cuts through the space between where she sits and Stiles. “Derek, I didn’t know you liked _boys_. This is new, and very interesting. He’s a cute one, too, even if he seems a little young. I honestly thought you liked your partners to be more… mature.”

“Leave him alone.” Cora growls the words before Stiles can.

“Cora, darling, you don’t seem to have learned any manners while growing up. Don’t interrupt,” Kate says sharply. “You were such a sweet girl once upon a time. You loved your friends, and you would do _anything_ to fit in. Tell me that hasn’t changed. It would be such a pity to know that the fire has changed you so much.”

“I can’t do this.” Cora shoves her chair back, eyes flashing briefly when Laura orders her to _sit down right now_. “No. I don’t care what you say, I can’t do this. I’m sorry, Stiles, I know they’re your friends, but this… it’s just… I can’t.”

Kate tuts softly as Cora leaves. “I’m so sorry to upset her.”

“No, you aren’t,” Laura gives her a look. “Let’s leave the past in the past and try to be _polite_ tonight.”

“Of course, of course.” Kate tilts her wine glass in Stiles’s direction. “Congratulation, Stiles. Derek always was a fine specimen, and he seems to have only improved with age. I’m sure you’ll enjoy him.” She takes a sip. “I know I did.”

There are reactions. Stiles realizes this, knows that his father says something, that Chris Argent says something else. He hears voices and words, but none of it matters because Derek is up and moving, leaving the table and the room, and Stiles makes a stuttered apology as he jumps up to follow. His chair crashes to the ground behind him and he doesn’t care, because he has somehow fucked _everything_ up, and he needs to make it right.

#

“Derek.” Stiles has to run to keep up with the way his not!boyfriend is walking down the sidewalk. “Derek!”

“Go back.” Derek’s eyes are a bright, shining blue when he looks back at Stiles, his hands curled with claws at his side. “This isn’t something you should get involved with.”

“I think I am involved, dude, since we’re _dating_.” He tries to put the quotes around the word with his voice, not sure who might be listening right now. “And it’s obvious there’s bad blood, and you dated Kate Argent when you were in high school, and I’m hoping she was less of a bitch then, because right now, I don’t like her at all. Which is a pity, since as much as I bitch about Scott and Allison and the massive PDA-fest that they indulge in, I actually _like_ Allison. She’s cool, and I’m kind of sorry her aunt’s not.”

“Her aunt is a _hunter_ ,” Derek says, voice low and muffled by his teeth. “Her _father_ is a hunter. She’s probably a hunter, too. They train them young in the Argent family, start them out when they’re teenagers. By the time they’re your age, they’re already knee deep in blood, killing rogues, and in the case of the Argents, killing innocent werewolves who haven’t _done_ anything to deserve it. They say they have a code. They _lie_.”

Stiles can’t even figure out which part of that to attack first. “So, Allison is going to want to kill Scott.”

“He’s a werewolf, she’s a hunter. They won’t tolerate the relationship,” Derek says dryly.

“But Kate dated you.” There’s an important piece missing here, and Stiles needs to understand it. Needs to understand _Derek_.

Derek laughs, and the sound is pained. “No, Kate and I fucked. She found me when my girlfriend had just died—my fault, by the way—and she was older, and attractive, and she _wanted_ me, so we fucked until I thought she loved me. I had no idea who she was then, not until her family burnt mine to the ground. We weren’t have a last names, familial introductions kind of relationship at the time.”

Dead girlfriend, Derek’s fault—probably bitten, but not by Derek since he’s not an Alpha. Hunter girlfriend, burnt family. It all slots in neatly with what Cora said, and suddenly Stiles is absolutely positively sure that there is no way to get out of this week with Derek’s sanity intact. He’s not going to rip his heart out; Derek would have to fall in love with him for that to happen, and Stiles is well aware that that isn’t likely. But he’s already fucked with his head by dragging him back to Beacon Hills and putting him in Kate’s way.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispers. “I had no idea she’d be here. I’ve never even met her, not even when Allison’s mom died.” He takes a step closer to Derek, moving slowly, giving him a chance to escape if he wants. But Derek stays right where he is until Stiles slots himself in close, winding his arms around him and holding on tight. “You were right to say you shouldn’t come to Beacon Hills. I wish you hadn’t.”

“You don’t want me here?” Derek’s cheek presses against Stiles’s, head bowed near his shoulder.

“I didn’t want to see you hurt like this. This was supposed to be… innocent, right? I mean, you keeping me from being killed by Lydia. Me keeping you from lying to your sisters, which you said you never do.” Stiles raises one eyebrow, even though Derek can’t see him, because he is well aware by now that Derek has indeed lied to those sisters and gotten away with it. “I’m sorry it’s so fucked up.”

“Tell me you two aren’t making out on a street corner.”

Cora’s dry voice cuts through the air, breaking the mood. Just because she’s said it, and because they need to put on a show, Stiles presses his hand against Derek’s cheek and kisses him lightly. It’s getting easier every time he does it, like the role makes sense to him now. Derek chases him down when he moves back, capturing another kiss, nipping at his lip until Stiles leans in and up, dragging his mouth over Derek’s. It’s more than he meant, maybe even more than just a show. He wrestles his breathing under control and pastes on a smile for Cora’s benefit.

“Just taking a Kate break,” he says as they both turn towards her. “I’m pretty sure no one’s hunting anyone as long as my dad’s presiding over dinner. There are a lot of folks in there with no idea what all the fuss is about.”

“We haven’t done anything to violate the code.” Cora has her arms crossed, her posture defensive. “They can’t come after us now, anyway. They should be hunting the rogue. We should actually be on the same side.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Derek says.

“Yeah. I know. Got that lesson a while back.” Cora rolls her eyes. “Let’s get back inside before Kate ingratiates herself into the middle of Stiles’s family.” She knocks into his shoulder. “You know, you could have mentioned your best friend is dating an Argent.”

“I didn’t have any idea that it was important. Clueless until very recently, remember.” Stiles nudges her back. “If there’s anything else I should know to keep from blowing this holiday up any more, this might be a good time to divulge it.”

Cora and Derek exchange a look, before they both shake their head.

Great.

They’re lying.

But there isn’t much he can do about it now. Stiles just needs to be ready to roll with the punches when they come.

And they _will_ come. He’s sure of that much, at least.

But maybe they can at least get through Christmas without bloodshed.

#

The Argents are walking out the door when Stiles returns with Derek and Cora. Allison hurries down the steps, catching Stiles for a quick hug. “I’m so sorry. One of Dad’s clients got in touch with him and apparently he doesn’t care that it’s Christmas Eve and Dad isn’t supposed to be working, so we need to go.” She pulls him in tight, whispering in his ear, “I’m sorry my aunt was so weird. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

Stiles knows his smile must look fake, but what can he do? Allison has been one of his best friends for years. She’s the girl he always thought would end up being like a sister-in-law, married to his not-quite-brother. She’s as good as family, but suddenly he’s also seeing her as a potential enemy, and he doesn’t like that. “Yeah. Call me. And Allison?” He kisses her cheek, his voice a whisper so soft it’s barely there.

“Yeah?”

“If you trust Scott, make sure you trust him more than _anyone_ ,” Stiles whispers. “Because you can. I _promise_. Scott’s a trustworthy kind of guy.”

Allison pulls back, her expression bewildered. “Well, yes, of course he is. You know I already do, Stiles.”

“Just promise me.” Stiles wants this one thing from her, so that when someone tries to tell her what to do, she won’t just think Scott’s turned into a monster.

“I promise.” She squeezes both his hands. “Now I’ve really got to go, so let me get out of here before my dad starts yelling. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

He makes the mistake of watching as she climbs into the back seat of the car, and Kate catches his eye. She presses her fingertips to her lips and blows him a kiss, winking when he takes a step back.

“She gives me the creeps,” he murmurs, figuring Derek can hear him, then follows the two Hales into the house.

Scott meets them as soon as they walk in. “Jackson and Lydia headed out when things got tense,” he says. “Lydia says she gets enough fighting at home, and Kate just laughed. She gives me some odd vibes.”

“Good instinct,” Cora says.

“Where are my dad and your mom?” Stiles pushes Scott towards the living room, shoving him into a seat. “Because this is time for a conversation, and I don’t think it’s one we want them hearing.”

“Well, that’s always an interesting thing to overhear, especially from you, Stiles.” Because of course, there’s his dad, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows lifted in that way that Stiles knows means that lying _really_ isn’t going to get him out of this.

“If there’s something you think we should know, out with it,” Melissa informs them. “Unless you want to be grounded over Christmas. Because you may think that just because you’re over eighteen I can’t ground you, but as long as you’re living in my house and borrowing my car, there are plenty of things I can take away from you.”

Stiles looks at Derek, who looks to Laura, while Scott slumps down on the couch as if he could somehow make himself smaller. Laura slides from her chair smoothly and gestures at it. “I think you both might want to have a seat for this. It’s not exactly how I’d expected to be introduced to your family, Sheriff Stilinski.”

“Ah.” The sheriff sinks down into the overstuffed chair and pats the arm, waiting for Melissa to perch there. “This. I’d wondered if you’d told my son yet. Because if you didn’t, I was going to have to, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.”

Laura’s gaze narrows. “What do you think we’re talking about?”

“The Hale family heritage,” he responds. “Did you think you were placed in a foster family near a sympathetic pack accidentally?”

They all talk over each other then, words spilling out while Stiles stays, for once, absolutely silent. Dad _knew_. He knew about the Hales, knew about the suspicions of hunter activity during the fire, but he never knew who the hunters were. Laura goes into more detail about the current rash of attacks, and the fact that there is another pack in this territory now, while the sheriff points out that they still have the rights to their property and home, if they want to rebuild. That statement sends Derek onto the couch, falling into the seat like his legs have been kicked out from under him. Stiles sinks onto his lap, letting Derek pull him in, fingers clinging to him while Stiles rubs the back of his hand quietly.

Melissa is the quietest, absorbing the information of her son’s bite, his invitation to be a part of the Hale pack since they’ll all be together when they return to school. Information slides into discussion, then brainstorming what to do next with the attacks, and after a while Stiles realizes that one thing has been skipped over. One important piece of information has been left out while they all talk about the rogue alpha and actual reality of werewolves.

“What about the Argents?” he asks quietly.

“Allison?” Scott’s head tilts, brow furrowed in confusion. “What about Allison?”

“The Argents are hunters,” Laura tells him, voice flat. “One of the oldest families. One of the strongest families, with ties to several other hunter families as well. They are the ones who killed my family.”

“Kate, specifically.” Derek’s voice is quiet, muffled by the way he leans into Stiles. “Kate was living here with her father—he was separated from her mother, or her mother was dead, I don’t know which. I thought dead, from what she said. Her brother wasn’t here at the time. Allison was probably around their age.” He jerks his chin towards Cora, Stiles, and Scott. “But that doesn’t mean she’s blameless now. The Argents don’t follow the code. They don’t hunt that which hunts them… they hunt anything they see as a monster. They will want to finish what they started, plus they’ll go after the new pack, and they’ll try to take out the rogue.”

“Maybe the rogue will eat them,” Cora mutters. “And then choke on Kate’s bones and die.” She glances around. “What, a girl can hope, right?”

“You are one vicious bitch,” Stiles tells her, and honestly, it’s a compliment. From the way her cheeks pink and she smiles, he’s pretty sure she gets that, too.

“Allison wouldn’t—” Scott cuts off at a look from Laura.

“Don’t tell her you were bitten,” Laura orders, and Scott’s mouth snaps shut like he doesn’t have a choice. “Not unless you want to put her in a position to decide whether to break away from her family or put you down like a rabid dog. Because that is what will happen, and Kate is charismatic. She’s an important person in Allison’s life, and she’s family. And her _father_ is family. If they tell her that you are a dangerous monster, who do you think she’ll believe?”

“She loves me,” Scott says firmly.

“Chris Argent loved his wife,” the sheriff says slowly. “And I am fairly certain her death was not an accident.”

“Hm?” Laura’s attention shifts to him.

“The animal attacks began a year and a half ago,” he explains. “The first person attacked was Victoria Argent. She died exactly three weeks later, on the full moon. According to forensic evidence, she was stabbed in the gut, in a manner that suggested assisted suicide. However, as her legal wishes were plainly written out, and properly notarized, no case was made. I didn’t know the link to hunters then, or I might have looked into it more closely. I actually thought they might be werewolves themselves, for a while.”

Stiles wonders if Allison knows. If she’s aware just how deeply her family is into this.

He wonders if any of them are going to be able to get out of this hole with their sanity intact.

“Allison’s not evil,” Scott says firmly. “And she’s not going to kill me.” He pushes to his feet, eyes flashing yellow and teeth elongating. It’s the first time Stiles has seen his best friend transform and it is one of the most disturbing moments of his life.

He will never forget this. He will never forget the sharp claws or the bared teeth, or the ugly, angry growl that slips free.

Then Scott turns and is at the door before anyone can move. Cora follows, but Scott is gone, racing away before she can get to him. “I’ll go after him,” she snarls through sharp teeth.

“Stay close. Make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone, and watch out for the alpha,” Laura snaps. “Go!”

Derek spills Stiles off his lap in a tangle of loose limbs as they both come to their feet. As Laura barks orders, they all listen intently, the sheriff offering ideas, Melissa talking quietly. There’s a plan coming together, and it doesn’t matter that it’s the night before Christmas. Apparently werewolves and hunters take priority over everything else. But there are so many pieces, so many risks, and Scott and Derek are in the thick of it.

They have to deal with it. Now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late. This chapter's a little longer, plus it's getting thicker and more gooey and taking more work on my part (well, and it's harder to write on the weekend when everyone's home!). Hope y'all are continuing to enjoy! Thank you for your awesome comments! Don't forget, you can come visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) and drop me an ask if you want to chat.


	6. Chapter 6

“Hey.”

Stiles stops and turns on his way into the kitchen, a plate of cookies in his hands. He’s stalling, he knows, but as soon as they walk out that door, things are about to become irrevocably chaotic, and he’s not sure he’s ready for this. Any of this. His entire life has turned upside down, all because of a crush and his friends assuming that he was dating his hot TA.

Who kisses like wildfire and wakes up in bed with woodies.

He is just so fucked.

With a sigh, he asks, “What?” The cookies on the plate slide when Derek reaches for one, biting into the sugar cookie to take half, then offering the other half to Stiles.

His hands are full, so he opens his mouth, and Derek gently feeds it to him.

That really shouldn’t go straight to his dick, but it does, especially when Derek’s finger touches his lower lip, dragging across it. Stiles groans, and Derek laughs.

“Mistletoe.” Derek points up.

Stiles tries to protest—the game isn’t important anymore, and they don’t have _time_ for this—but Derek just takes the plate out of his hand and reaches into the kitchen to nudge it onto the counter. Then he pulls Stiles in close, hands framing his face just before he kisses him. Slow and gentle, cautious as if he could be rejected. As if Stiles would _ever_ reject him. Stiles pulls him closer in silent acceptance, teasing Derek’s lips with his tongue, groaning softly when Derek opens to him, lets him press inside. He could get used to this. He could get very, _very_ used to this.

“Guys, this isn’t the time.” Laura edges past them carefully, grabbing one more cookie from the plate before she sets down the dishes that she’s carrying in the sink. “Tonight, when everything’s taken care of, you can go out for a drive and do whatever you want. I don’t care. Just… don’t do anything that’s going to piss John off, and please don’t do it in the house. But right now, you have your assignment, so get on that. Cora’s following Scott, Melissa’s going home in case he ends up there, and John and I are heading to the coffee shop.”

“It’s Christmas Eve. The pack isn’t going to be there this late.”

Laura smiles sharply. “We’ve put our heads together, and I don’t think there’s anywhere else they _will_ be. Lahey’s on his own, Boyd moved out to give his parents extra money for the rest of his family, and Erica has issues with her mother. I checked it out earlier, and that place smells like the pack has been bedding down there for months.”

She glances at Derek and Stiles get the feeling again that he’s being left out of a conversation, that more is being said, particularly when Derek nods once in acknowledgment. “And we are?” he prompts.

“We’re going to visit someone,” Derek says quietly. “It’s the kind of thing family does on the holiday. Even if it’s been a decade.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will. Grab your jacket and your keys.”

Stiles reaches up and grabs the mistletoe, tucking it into his pocket. It’s just a whim, and it makes no sense, but for some reason, he feels more comfortable having it on him. He pats his pocket and grabs his jacket, meeting Derek out at the Jeep.

“So. Explanations.”

“My Uncle Peter survived the fire.” Derek clicks the seatbelt locked. “Head into the city. His nursing home is on the outskirts on the other side. Your dad made sure he was placed there.”

“And my dad knew he was a werewolf at the time, so I assume he was properly taken care of?” Because Stiles has to think that a guy who doesn’t even know he’s a werewolf can’t be easy to deal with at the full moon. Wait. He’s making an assumption. “Do you guys go crazy at the full moon?”

“If we don’t have an anchor, we do. We can learn to keep our sanity through practice, and by finding something that helps us hold on to our humanity.” Derek stares straight forward as Stiles drives. “Or by being sedated. Peter wasn’t in great shape after the fire—he almost didn’t survive at all—so he spent the first few years in a medically induced coma. We were notified when he came to, but he’s been catatonic since then. He sits in a chair and stares into space every damned day.”

Right. Sounds exciting. “Then why’s it so important that we go see him _now_?”

“It’s what relatives do,” Derek says dryly.

“Try again.” Stiles spares him a glance while they pause at a red light. “Seriously. Why now? There has to be a reason that Laura—who seems to like giving orders and watching you guys jump—chose _now_ to send you off to see him. So what is it?”

Derek fidgets. There’s no other word for it, the way he shifts in the seat, his hand sliding down his thigh, palm scraping nervously against his jeans. “We smelled him in the preserve that night,” he says quietly. “At least, I thought we did. Laura didn’t notice, and Cora barely remembers him. But he was my best friend, even though he was older than me, and I could swear that I smelled him there.”

“So maybe he’s not actually catatonic,” Stiles says slowly.

“Exactly.”

“And you think maybe he’s the rogue alpha?” Because Stiles can follow the clues, and the only thing in that preserve that wasn’t the coffee shop pack, or the Hale pack, or him and Scott… was the rogue alpha.

“He can’t be.” Derek’s words come too quickly. “Being an alpha is passed magically. You either have to kill an alpha, or you have to be born to it, and when your alpha dies, you get the power. Laura got my mom’s alpha power, and she was the only alpha in our pack. Unless Peter somehow killed another alpha and kept it secret, there is no way he could be one himself. And he wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have kept a secret like that from me.”

Derek doesn’t believe that. Stiles doesn’t have to be a werewolf to hear the lie in Derek’s words. He can see the way his hands clench tightly together, he can see the taut line of his jaw. He can hear the ragged breath around every syllable, as Derek tries to force himself to believe.

Stiles thinks he knows the place Derek is talking about, so he heads in that direction, figuring Derek will correct him if he needs to. For now, though: distraction.

“So, your uncle Peter was your best friend? You must’ve been close in age. Were he and your dad part of a big family?”

“He’s my mother’s brother; she kept her name. And yes, it was a big family.” Derek’s fingers tap against his thigh. “He’s seven years older than me. He was in Kate’s class, actually. They were friends, once, before she went insane and tried to kill us all. That’s how she and I first met.”

Derek and Kate. And Kate’s… “Holy crap, she was over twenty and you were fifteen? That’s like…”

“It’s not the same for wolves.” Derek gives him a look. “Don’t make us human, because we’re not. Age is different for us.”

“I am just going to let that one go for now, dude, but don’t think I’m fully on board with it, because I’m not. We humans know better, and that’s totally her fault,” Stiles says firmly. “That would be like me deciding to date a thirteen year old right now, and that’s just…” He shakes his head. “I don’t like her, dude. And I’m not going to like what she did to you, because you vibrate with anger and hurt when she’s brought up. But this is about Peter right now, and I was trying to distract you with the good memories until I got completely distracted by being outraged.”

Derek snorts. “Go ahead, be outraged on my behalf. It’s cute.”

Stiles flushes. “I wasn’t aiming for cute, but I’ll take it.”

It’s a moment.

Not a _moment_ , but a point that could _become_ a moment.

One where Stiles could so easily segue into a talk about their non-existent relationship and how maybe it’s starting to feel like it could actually be one. Or about how he sort of wishes that it were one, but if Derek just wants to do a little FWB thing while they’re busy fooling everyone, that’d be okay too. Or maybe even about how he doesn’t want to fuck things up and maybe they can at least be friends when this is all done, because even without the whole werewolf thing, he’s starting to actually like Derek. And Laura, and Cora, and well… 

“Turn right here.”

Shit.

The moment’s gone.

Derek points and Stiles dutifully turns right, then takes a quick left into a parking lot. As soon as he parks, Derek’s hand snakes out, and he is kissing Stiles hard, rubbing his cheek against his throat and cheeks, nipping a fresh mark onto the side of his neck.

It’s distracting.

And really fucking arousing.

Stiles is breathing hard when it ends, as he pushes Derek back just enough to see his eyes. “Scent?” he manages to ask.

Derek nods, his eyes dilated, lips dark red and swollen from the kiss. “You need to smell like pack.” His fingers curl in against Stiles’s neck, and Stiles tilts his head back, baring his throat, aware of what that has to mean to a predator like Derek.

When teeth close gently over the pulse in his neck, he inhales roughly. The touch of Derek’s tongue goes straight to his dick, blood rushing to his groin when Derek sucks lightly at the skin.

“You really don’t care that I’m a monster, do you?”

“Because you’re not a monster, and I trust you.” Stiles swallows hard, recognizing another potential moment but also knowing that he has to let this one go. “We should go in. Visiting hours can’t be going for much later tonight, even on Christmas Eve.”

Derek touches his lip lightly, then withdraws. “You’re right. We should go.”

#

Stiles adjusts himself twice on the way into the nursing home, once a subtle attempt and the second time with an obvious shove that makes Derek smirk and snicker. “I hate you,” he mutters under his breath, and Derek laughs out loud.

The nurse on duty is thrilled to see Derek, glad that Peter has family in the area. “He’s been so quiet today,” she says. “I know he’ll be happy to see you.”

Stiles isn’t sure how someone who is sitting in a chair, not moving, one side of his face twisted with scars… how can they _know_ if he’s happy? Peter Hale is not an imposing man, slumped slightly in a wheelchair that faces the open curtains, staring at the flickering lights decorating the trees outside.

“I’m here,” Derek says quietly, one hand on his uncle’s shoulder. “I should have come sooner, but it’s been hard to come back to Beacon Hills. And sometimes life just interferes. This… this is Stiles. My boyfriend.” He gestures, and Stiles has to go to him, has to let Derek lace their fingers together while Stiles smiles at this man who doesn’t even seem to know he’s there.

Stiles doesn’t want to just stand here. He wants to ask questions. Does this guy smell like the one that bit Scott? Are they in danger? Shouldn’t they be going to find Scott and let him know what’s going on?

But he can’t say a word, just in case Peter _is_ the problem.

And he also can’t say a word because Derek is looking at this man like his whole world broke down.

They were best friends, once.

Stiles tries to imagine if this were Scott, and the image just shatters in his mind, too terrifying to even let get a foothold.

He squeezes Derek’s hand carefully. “Look. I’m just going to go wait…” His voice trails off as Peter’s head swivels and those hazel eyes pin him quietly. “Um.”

“They said he does that sometimes.” Derek sinks down to crouch in front of Peter, one hand on his knee. “We get letters about his progress, and they said that sometimes he reacts to voices in the room as if he’s actually hearing what’s said, but he doesn’t process it, and he never responds. He hasn’t been the same since the fire.”

Stiles can’t look away, not while Peter is staring at him, like some bizarre contest of who will blink first. “So he was in the house?”

“Yes, and he was the only one left alive when it was over. He was burned trying to protect my mother, but it didn’t matter, because she was poisoned as well as burnt.” Derek bows his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back. I think about you all the time. I think about everyone. Me and Cora and Laura… we got lucky. We were all out of the house for our own reasons, and I… Kate thought everyone was there. I’d told her that everyone would be there.”

His laugh is soft and dry. “It’s my fault, you know. Cora and Laura try to tell me it’s not, but I know better.”

Peter finally blinks and turns his head again, ignoring Derek, staring at the window. It becomes one of those odd situations where Stiles doesn’t know what to do. Would a good boyfriend sit here and listen to his other half pouring his heart out? Or is giving him privacy the right thing to do? He sets his hand on Derek’s shoulder, squeezing. “It’s not your fault. Believe your sisters.”

There isn’t anyone to see here, other than Peter, who doesn’t seem to be seeing much of anything, but Stiles keeps his role anyway. He can’t stand seeing Derek shattered like this, and it gives him an excuse to do _something_. So he sinks to his knees, crouching next to Derek, and lightly brushes his cheek with the backs of his fingers until Derek turns.

Stiles swallows hard when faced with hazel eyes that are almost swamp soup in color, dark and hollow. He tilts his head, breath catching, and lets his fingers slide back to cup Derek’s head. “It’s not your fault,” he says again, brushing his lips on Derek’s, then rubbing his cheek against Derek’s stubble. He nuzzles for a moment, kisses his jaw and just behind his ear, then his lips again before he draws away.

“You um… I think you need some privacy here,” Stiles says quietly. “Which doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon you. I’m just going to take a walk down to the nurse’s station, and maybe meander about a bit, and I’ll be back soon. So you can talk to your uncle on your own. Okay?”

Derek nods once, and Stiles can see the walls sliding back into place, hiding the sorrow.

Stiles is familiar with that way of being. He remembers hiding behind those walls for a year, before he built new ones out of laughter and clowning, so that everyone would think he was all right. Now that he knows why Derek is a grumbling, sour person, Stiles aches for him.

He rolls back on his heels and comes to his feet, glancing one more time at Peter.

He swears he sees the man blink, but it might be a trick of the fading moonlight.

At this point, Stiles gets the feeling he’s so paranoid that he could imagine entire packs of werewolves sneaking up on him. It’s time to take a break, and to leave Derek to mourn for a moment alone.

#

Stiles leans back against the nursing station, phone in his hand. His thumbs glide over the virtual keyboard with practiced ease. _Dude. Tell me you aren’t chasing rabbits and that Cora caught up with you._

He fidgets until the phone vibrates with a response. _I’m not chasing rabbits but I’m also not much in the mood to talk right now._

Great. Now his best friend is pissed off at him. _Are you with Allison?_

_No_.

Stiles tilts his head back, not sure what to say with that. Should he ask how things went talking to Allison? Should he ask if Scott’s still got extra fur and long, sharp, pointy teeth? Should he poke at the Cora thing again? He sighs in frustration. It’s not just all the _things_ that are happening, it’s that feeling that it’s all out of his control, and that he can’t put any of it back together again, no matter how hard he tries.

His phone buzzes, and he looks down at the screen. _It’s just a lot, dude. Too much. I’m walking around for a bit, okay? Already told Mom I’m okay._

There really isn’t much Stiles can say to that, other than the warnings. _Watch out for the alpha. And the coffee shop pack._

_I was actually thinking of getting some coffee. I figured they might know what it feels like_.

Stiles huffs another sigh, because okay, maybe it’s selfish, but he really wants Scott to integrate with the Hale pack. Yeah, he hasn’t known for long about werewolves, but now that he does, he has to admit the Hale pack tops his list for potential affiliation. Laura’s a bit scary and control-freakish, maybe, but he likes Cora, and well, then there’s Derek.

His phone buzzes again. _Where are you right now?_

Stiles looks at the question and makes a face. _Chasing down a lead. It’s kind of personal for Derek._

The nurse comes back to the station, dropping off a pile of clipboards. Stiles figures her rounds must be over for the evening, and he tries to move out of her way while he stares at his phone, willing it to buzz back with an answer.

“Don’t worry, honey, you’re not in my way. We’re a little short-staffed tonight, so it’s not nearly as bustling as it usually is at this hour. Christmas,” she says, as if that’s all that needs to be said.

“There are usually more of you around for overnight?” Without anything to do (and with Scott ignoring him again), Stiles picks away at the only information he can get. “Do you guys have particular assignments or favorites?”

She laughs a little, shaking her head. “We’re not supposed to, but we all do. I’m fond of Mrs. Latimer down the hall. She can’t speak clearly, but she does have her way of making her needs known, and we get on well. Janny—that’s one of the other night nurses—she has a way with the teens on our ward. She speaks their language, even when they can’t speak it in return. And our last night nurse, Kate, she’s good with your Uncle Peter.”

“He’s my boyfriend’s uncle,” Stiles says, his mind working on that bit of information. The name is common. It could be common. “My best friend’s girlfriend’s aunt is a nurse.” He draws patterns on the countertop with one fingertip. “Her name’s Kate, and I think she said she does night shift somewhere. I wonder if it’s the same one?”

“If you want to leave her a note, her desk’s right over there.” The nurse points to one of the desks in the corner. “We all share our desks with the other two shifts, but that’s the one Kate uses at night. Tell her Marge said it’s okay to write, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Stiles settles in at the desk, picking up the triangular name block. _Sam Witherspoon_ is displayed on one side, and he rotates it through the other two sides. _Debbie Bickford_. _Kate Argent_.

The nameplate drops into his lap.

Kate Argent is Peter’s nurse.

That can _not_ be a coincidence.

His breath is tight in his chest, squeezing hard around his heart. He closes his eyes, clenches his hand until his fingernails press against his palm, using the pain as a focus as he drags each breath in and lets it out, struggling to get past the lights that flicker around the edges of the darkness behind his eyelids. When the panic attack finally clears, he opens his eyes and Derek is kneeling on the floor, hands on Stiles’s knees, looking up at him.

“You okay?”

Stiles swallows hard. “Just a panic attack. I get them sometimes, ever since my mom died. What are you doing here?”

“The nurse came to get me.” Derek’s brow is furrowed, his gaze fixed on the name plate that Stiles dropped into his lap. His hands slide over Stiles’s thighs, rough and soothing all at once. “What happened?”

He can’t answer. He can’t say it out loud because he doesn’t trust _anything_ right now, and he really doesn’t trust catatonic Uncle Peter at all. So Stiles simply rotates the long triangle in his hands until the name is facing outwards. He sees the moment Derek reads it. Parses it. Sees the way his eyebrows shoot up high.

Stiles nods slowly. “Go say your goodbyes,” he says quietly. “I was talking to Scott, and I think we ought to catch up with him tonight, then I kind of want to go home and go to bed.”

It all sounds so normal, talking about meeting up with his best friend on Christmas Eve, then implying that he wants to have sex with his boyfriend. But that’s not it at all. It’s an excuse to get somewhere they can talk. Because this is important.

What the hell does Kate Argent want with Peter Hale?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I can see the end. Vaguely. Sort of. I hope to plot it out at least today! I only have a couple more days for intense writing before vacation is over, so I need to get this finished up asap.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting and lurking and enjoying. I'm glad you're here! And of course, if you want to listen to me babble about fandom or writing or whatever, come see me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).


	7. Chapter 7

The twig of mistletoe in Stiles’s pocket crackles with every step. It reminds him that it is there, and he reaches in, touching it, feeling centered somehow by it. Not because they kissed under it (although really, that’s a great memory to hold on to right now) but because it feels _good_. He can’t explain it.

Derek’s fingers press against the small of his back, guiding Stiles in through the front door of the coffee shop. The sign is swung to closed, but there are lights, and the door is unlocked and waiting for them. As soon as they step in, Stiles touches Derek’s arm, gestures for him to move on.

Stiles turns and looks at the door, huffs a small breath.

He takes the twig from his pocket and looks at the berries, then looks at the door. His thumb slides along the wood and he thinks about the calming sensation, and the feeling of protection, then he places it carefully above the door, resting on the frame.

“Is there a reason why you’re hanging mistletoe over our door?” Erica asks, voice lilting. “This isn’t the time.”

“Exactly what I said earlier,” Laura points out.

He turns slowly, shoving his hands into his pockets as he shrugs. “It feels like I should. Not for kissing purposes.” There has to be some other purpose for mistletoe. If they were dealing with vampires, he’d hang garlic, right? Or spill rice. Maybe mistletoe and werewolves… no, Derek had said something about mountain ash (whatever that is) and wolfsbane. Still. He can look it up.

He grabs a chair and sinks into it, his knee knocking against Derek’s. “So,” he says, and everyone else looks at him like he should be saying something more.

Everyone else is a lot of people.

Not _everyone_ everyone. Cora’s not here, or Melissa, or Allison. But Scott sits at one table, his elbows folded against it, his head hung low. Erica leans back in her chair, Boyd’s arm across her shoulders. Isaac sits opposite Scott, his foot poking Scott’s ankle under the table. Laura looks like she’s ready to chew glass, and Dad… Dad just looks ready for something. Like if the world explodes, he can shoot it before it gets too bad.

Sometimes Stiles is really glad to have his dad on his side, and this is definitely one of those times.

“So, we share information. Cards on the table.” He pulls out his phone, starting to look up mistletoe while he talks. “Call Cora, too. Put her on speaker. Nothing left out this time. No more secrets.”

They all look at him like he’s insane, and okay, maybe he is.

“What?” He spreads his hands. “Personally, I’m not in favor of getting bitten by a crazy alpha. Do we actually know what’s going on at this point, or are we just sitting around getting ready for pack to fight pack until everyone’s broken and bleeding on the floor?”

“It could be fun,” Isaac muses. “I always did like a good fight.”

“I trust Allison,” Scott says.

“We know that,” Stiles assures him. “On the other hand, we don’t trust Kate, and I’m pretty sure that right now we don’t trust Peter Hale.” He knocks his knee against Derek. “Sorry, dude.”

Derek’s hand falls over his, wrapping around his fingers and squeezing lightly, but he doesn’t say a word.

“Call Allison.” Laura’s words drop into the silence. Her head tilts and her smile is thin and sharp. “Call Allison and tell her to meet you here. You can tell her anything you want once she gets here.”

“So you get to decide that we’re outed to a hunter?” Erica leans forward on the table. “Who died and made you lead bitch?”

“Tell me who your alpha is,” Laura growls.

Erica’s mouth opens. Closes. “We don’t know.” She raises both hands, leaning back into Boyd’s arms. “God’s honest truth, we have no idea who it is. We were each given a choice, and we took it, but we never saw the guy clearly and we haven’t seen him since. He contacts us sometimes, he helped us all get together, but we do our own thing. We don’t have an alpha around all the time, and it’s _fine_ that way. None of us are really the kind of person who likes to follow orders.”

Isaac stares at his claw-tipped fingers. “It’s good this way. We’re independent. We’re not causing trouble.”

“And when Kate starts hunting you, you’ll die independently,” Laura says dryly. “Wolves need packs. That’s how we work, and right now you’re ripe for any alpha to walk in and take you over, _if_ your own alpha is as out of the picture as you say he is.”

“Are you bidding for the job?” Boyd’s voice is a low rumble.

“When this is over, yes.”

“Is this the werewolf version of butt sniffing until you decide each other is trustworthy?” Stiles asks. “Because it’s getting old.”

Scott sets his phone down on the table with a soft clunk. “Allison’s on her way. You aren’t going to eat her, right?”

“We’re not eating anyone, and we’re not intimidating her, either.” Laura’s voice gentles. “But we _are_ going to act as your pack, and if you trust her, and you want to tell her, we will be here to protect you if she tries to destroy you.”

“In the meantime, there’s something you need to know.” Stiles and Derek lay their own cards on the table, explaining about their visit to Peter and discovering that Kate has been working there as his nurse. “It seemed like it’s been going on for a long time,” Stiles adds. “It isn’t some new development, and if you all hate her, wouldn’t it agitate him to have her as a nurse?”

“I placed him there specifically because they are known for hiring people who are aware of the supernatural and they have someone on each shift trained to handle supernatural creatures,” his dad replies. “She hasn’t killed him.”

“My guess is she wants to keep an eye on him, but why waste energy killing someone who’s useless?” Isaac muses. “Why kill someone who can’t fight back?”

“Can we stop talking about killing people?” Scott pushes back from the table, arms crossed. “No one is going to die.”

“And if they try killing you?” Laura asks. “What will you do then? Will you just sit back and not defend yourself in order to avoid killing someone?”

Scott licks his lip, but doesn’t respond.

“That’s what I thought. You’re going to do everything you can to stay alive in the end. That’s human nature, and you’re still a human, with a wolf riding your back.”

It isn’t Laura’s words that get to Stiles, but the thought of Scott killing someone. The idea that his best friend has been transformed so much that he will grow teeth and defend himself by ripping out the throat of another human being.

And it’s not a far leap from there to the idea that _Derek_ has probably already done this. He’s been a wolf since he was born, so he had to have fought as one. Especially after Kate tried to kill them.

That’s the moment that it’s too much, that Stiles needs to get up and move away, hands raking through his hair. He hears Scott’s question, waves fingers in his direction muttering that he’s okay and heads for the door. A low growl stops him, and he remembers that the people behind him _aren’t human_. Except for his dad, every single other person in that room has fangs and teeth and… “I’m just going into the back room,” he says quickly. “No one needs to worry. I won’t fuck anything up for the shop. I just… I need to breathe.”

He pushes through the door, hears conversation in his wake although he doesn’t know what they say. As soon the door closes, he’s alone, and he feels that settle over him. Stiles closes his eyes and leans up against one of the counters, sinking to the floor, knees bent and head in his hand. It’s Christmas Eve and everything has unraveled.

He just needs a moment to think.

#

Erica isn’t the one he expects to come find him. Scott maybe, or Derek, or possibly even Laura. His dad knows better than to get in the way right now, although Stiles supposes it would be possible. But Erica? She barely knows him, and barely tolerates him at the best of times.

Now that he’s brought all this down on her self-made family, he’s pretty sure he’s on her shit list.

Except she’s smiling as she sinks down to sit next to him, her hand covering his where it rests on his knee. “So. You bagged a hot one.”

“Out of all the possible topics, we’re starting with my boyfriend?”

She leans in, her head on his shoulder. “I had a crush on you once, Stiles. You didn’t even know I existed, because I wasn’t Lydia. Or Jackson. I never could figure out which one of them you were actually lusting after, or maybe you were daydreaming about hot threesome sandwiches.”

He gives her a look. “This conversation is not happening, Erica. Not where you know damned well my boyfriend can hear.”

“Why not?” Her finger drifts along his arm. “He knows you wouldn’t stray, doesn’t he? Or is he the kind of guy that’s actually insecure, willing to listen to anyone else who might be willing to offer an opinion? But of course, he’s not even human. And here you are, dropped into a world of fur and fangs, and I bet you’re wondering what’s going to happen next time he wraps those luscious lips around your dick. Will he wolf out? Will he sink fangs into tender flesh?”

The fuck? “That may be the most disturbing thing I’ve heard all day.” Stiles twists away from her, because when he imagines it, it isn’t Derek he sees biting in uncomfortable places, it’s a clear imagined picture of what Erica would look in full fang.

It’s kind of terrifying.

She comes to her feet in fluid motion, one hand held out to him. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” Stiles gives her a wary look and stands slowly, not taking the offered hand. He doesn’t say that he has to tell the others because they can hear him, right? Scott might not be listening, but he figures that Derek is keeping tabs on him.

“Store room,” she says with a quick grin. “There’s something you’ll want to see there. Since you brought mistletoe.”

Stiles has to admit, he’s curious, because this doesn’t actually sound like a _pounce and kiss_ situation, but more like she has some idea why it feel like a good thing to put the twigs up over the door. “Fine.” He gestures for her to lead on and follows further into the shop to where the storage space opens up next to the back door. When they get there, he doesn’t see anything other than he thinks he should: a desk, piles of bags of flour and spices, bags of coffee. “What?”

Erica leans against the back door and he hears the soft click of the handle turning. He manages to take two steps backwards before the door bursts open and _something_ rushes into the room, pouncing on him in a leap of cold wet loamy scent and claws and fur. 

Stiles goes down with only a small yelp before a hand is over his face, holding his mouth shut with a brutally tight grip. The wolf—if he could call it that, because the damned thing is bigger than any wolf he’s ever seen, and more monstrous than anything else—stands on his chest, huge paws making it difficult to draw in a deep breath. He struggles, and Erica’s eyes flash gold. 

“Don’t,” she hisses. “This would have been so much easier if you hadn’t locked the front door, but _no_ , you had to put up protections. You had to ward this place against those who would cause us harm.”

Stiles shakes his head because _no_. He put a sprig of mistletoe up. That’s _it_.

“We have two options,” Erica muses softly. “One, we can take you, and I _know_ Derek will come to find you. Or two, we can kill them now.” She reaches for the thing, her fingers tangling in the scruff and scratching as if it were a giant, slobbering dog. “I don’t want to get blood in my shop.”

The wolf’s eyes flash red, and Erica takes a quick step away, putting Stiles between them as she keeps her hold on him. She growls softly, and the damned wolf vibrates low and deep in return. “Fine,” she bites out. “Take him. Do whatever you want with him. We’ll take care of the rest of the Hales.”

Stiles would shout, but she coldcocks him and darkness comes quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, yes, but I wanted to get it posted before I go back to work. And now I can move on to the next bit of rollicking fun with it. *grins* As always, thank you for reading, enjoying, and commenting. And if you'd like, come visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).


	8. Chapter 8

Kate is there when Stiles awakens, and she laughs when he scrambles to sitting and crab walks backwards away from her. She is crouched, one arm loosely bent against her knee, observing him.

He can’t stop watching her. She is the enemy, and he doesn’t dare look away.

“It’s amazing what can happen when you tell a dog _fetch_ ,” she says. “Of course, the fact that my dog has human intelligence and is completely loyal does help, quite a bit. Are you comfortable?”

“No.” His head aches, and his throat is dry, and he’s cold. He can feel mud under his fingernails and he really doesn’t want to know where he is right now, because it stinks like death.

It’s funny how disappointed she looks.

“Well, I’m terribly sorry about that, Stiles.” She stands and takes a few steps back; Stiles notices how she won’t turn her back on him either. “Here you are, unbound, unfettered, able to move around and retain your humanity. Your human _dignity_. I would think you’d be grateful.”

“I _am_ human,” he points out.

Kate shrugs. “Not for long. And then no one will blame me when I put down a rabid dog. Or perhaps I’ll have my own dog kill you. It’s a dog eat dog world, after all.” She laughs, the sound rough and husky, and Stiles feels like it’s the kind of thing that would normally go straight to his dick, but it doesn’t.

Normally he’s the king of fear boners. Look at how much trouble it’s been getting him into every time Derek growls. But no, not this time. Her phone-sex voice leaves him cold.

He pushes back until he feels the wall behind him, solid and rough and comforting. Slow, shuddering breaths, trying to think past the slow thump in the side of his head. “So you have a pet werewolf,” he says. “How does that work? Does your kiss awaken sleeping ugly?”

She laughs then. “Cute. Very cute. But no… And of course, you’ve put together the details. You are your father’s son, aren’t you? He was always such a pain in the ass, investigating things that shouldn’t be investigated, and _ignoring_ the things that needed to be looked into.”

“What? My dad would _never_ ignore a crime.” Stiles almost stands up for that, _almost_ gets in her face, but that would take effort and energy and a level of balance that he’s not sure he possesses at the moment.

“Really? Because he did just that when I was sixteen.” Kate comes closer, stalking him, hips swaying lightly as she moves. “My mother was killed, and your father was put in charge of the investigation and he chose to sweep it under the rug. An _animal attack_ , which you should know by now means that she was gutted by a werewolf. Like my sister-in-law, which he _also_ chose not to investigate.”

Stiles does quick math in his head and comes up uncertain, but he’s pretty sure where his dad’s head was back then, and work wasn’t his highest priority, not with an overly rambunctious young son at home who was riding the edge of finally gaining an ADHD diagnosis. He also wasn’t sheriff at the time, and he shared cases with a partner. “I’m sorry your mom died.”

“Of course you are, baby.” Kate is close enough to touch him, her fingers gliding over his cheek. Stiles hears a growl in the background, warning and rough, but she doesn’t stop. Her palm lies flat against his cheek, her fingers cradling his skull. “Do you know what it’s like to stand there and watch your mother bleed out? To see her gasp and beg for life, when you know that if she _does_ live, she’d be a monster?”

Stiles grits his jaw. “I held my mother’s hand when she died,” he tells her. “If she’d lived, she would have been a zombie. Her life was hell at that point, and you know what, even if cancer were a thing I could kill, I wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.”

It sounds stupid as soon as it’s out of his mouth, but he knows she’ll know what he means.

At least he thinks she will.

Instead it makes her laugh all over again. “Good analogy.” Her fingers tighten on the back of his neck, digging in and making him see small sparkles around the edges of his vision. “Because cancer _is_ a monster. You know it. I know it. It never comes in and makes itself at home without stealing a life. It’s insidious. It’s quiet. And sometimes it can be there, resting quietly, looking like nothing unusual is happening, then _bam_ , you’ve got two months to live.” She leans her forehead against his. “Never believe a monster who tries to tell you he won’t hurt you. He will _always_ hurt you.”

There is a clack-clack along the stone floor, the sound of nails on overly large paws as a giant wolf stalks in. It nudges in next to Kate, burrowing its head under her arm like a dog begging for praise; the sight of the huge head—the long teeth that drip with saliva—makes Stiles’s stomach turn. And ache.

He rubs a hand over his belly in response, and a sick feeling starts as he realizes what he feels there.

“No,” he whispers. “No. Oh God, no. No.” He yanks his shirt up, fingers slipping through the rips in the fabric, sliding over skin still marred by thick lines that seem only half-healed, as if his body forgot what it was doing halfway through the process. “Fuck.”

“That does _not_ look good.” Kate tsks softly. “You were out cold for quite a while, and that should be healed by now. Do you know what happens when the change doesn’t take?”

Stiles’s breath is hard and cold in his chest. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I die.”

She beams at him before turning back to the giant wolf by her side. She digs her hands into its ruff, holds on as she nuzzles the muzzle, cooing at it, and Stiles swears it would coo back if it could. It whines at her, tilts and bares its neck so that she can press her face against it, mouth open in a way that Stiles knows must mean a mouthful of fur, but at the same time… the giant wolf submits.

If dire wolves were real, this thing would be one of _them_ , and it’s rolling over for Kate like she’s the alpha.

This just gets better and better.

His hand flattens against his side, feeling the partially healed wound. He has to consciously pull his shirt down over it, carefully put it out of his mind. He doesn’t have time for that right now, not with Kate the only thing between him and a beast that might want to take another bite.

“You want to keep me,” he says, voice low. “Just like Erica and Boyd and Isaac. But I’m not lost. I don’t _want_ to belong to you.”

“They don’t belong to me. They don’t even belong to _him_. They belong to a mirage that walks on two legs and pretends that it is sane and human.” She grabs the wolf’s ruff in both hands, nuzzling nose to nose. “He was always so charming, and he still can be when he focuses on it. But he prefers to be wild. He prefers anything that makes me happy.”

Okay. So. Kate’s calling the shots, and Erica and the others don’t know they’re under the control of a hunter. In fact, this insane hunter has built a pack. Why? It doesn’t make _sense_. “But still. You don’t want to kill me.” He needs to understand some part of it, and this started out with her threatening him.

“No.” She draws the word out, soft and low. “I don’t want to kill you, but if it happens, I won’t be disappointed. What I do want is to destroy the Hales, and I’ll start with you.”

“I’m not a Hale.”

“Maybe not.” She shoves the wolf aside, pushing down on its head when it moves to follow her. When she drops to her knees in front of Stiles, she leans in close, framing his face, brushing her lips against his forehead. “But you do belong to Derek, and he’ll come for you. And his sisters will come for him. The dogs will fight, and mine will win. It’s only the beginning. When I’m done, the only werewolves left will belong to me. The perfect weapons against their own kind.”

“It’s a brilliant plan.” Stiles’s voice is dry in his throat, his breath rasping.

Kate only smiles. “Of course it is.”

She grips his wrists quickly, wrestling him into restraints and chains that are attached to the walls. He’s still fighting when she summons the dire wolf and they leave him there, scraping against the dirt, screaming obscenities.

Because her plan _isn’t_ brilliant.

It isn’t even going to work.

There is no way in hell that Derek Hale will walk into a trap for him.

He sinks down onto the dirty floor and groans softly. His side is throbbing, and there is nothing left to do but wait.

#

Stiles dozes because it’s late, his head hurts, and his body feels like it’s been put through a blender. When he wakes up at one point, his stomach heaves, and he manages to roll over before vomiting a foul-smelling, thick, black liquid onto the floor.

Gross.

And it doesn’t help how his stomach feels, roiling and uncomfortable, like he’s eaten everything he shouldn’t and nothing good.

“I could use some Tums, here!” he yells out, voice echoing back at him. Nothing. No one. 

Okay. Fine. So, this is incarceration.

Where the fuck is he?

Stiles needs something to distract himself from the fact that he feels like crap. He moves as far away from the mess on the floor as he can, and tries to ignore the insistent ache in his gut and his bladder. Instead, he looks around, trying to figure out just what this place is.

Closing his eyes, he inhales, tasting the funk in the air. Still smells like death, but maybe that’s because it’s like dead leaves in the wood on a fall day, when there’s smoke in the air from fireplaces. Heavy smoke, and a wet fire that’s been put out. Dead wood. Rotting things. Dirt.

He’s only human, but he can still smell the things he’s used to, things that remind him of camping in the rain, when the water pouring from the sky has doused the campfire and left it smoldering.

He’s underground. There’s a thin slit of light from a casement window, and every once in a while the floor overhead creaks from the weight of someone moving around. Kate, he assumes, and the wolf.

Another wave of nausea catches him and he doubles over, retching until he has nothing left. He wipes his hand against his mouth and it comes away black.

He’s dying.

The bite is killing him, and it _hurts_.

“Fuck you!” he yells. “Fuck you, Kate Argent! You’re a fucking idiot! Why didn’t you use your own _niece_ as bait? Scott would follow her to the ends of the earth and over the edge into hell if he had to! What the fuck makes you think Derek is actually going to come looking for _me_?”

Yelling exhausts him and he sinks back to the floor, knees buckling and he hits the ground hard. “Fuck,” he whispers.

His dad will look for him. Scott will look for him. Even Allison might, and Lydia and she’ll drag Jackson along. But what the hell are they going to do against Kate and her pet dire wolf? They don’t even know what they’re walking into. And wait, what about the coffee shop pack? Did they figure out that they’re evil or did Erica have some story?

Are they even really evil or is it all Kate’s fault?

What if Allison’s in it?

Stiles doesn’t want to believe it, but he think that it’s been _hours_ and Scott isn’t here yet. She could be sending them all on a wild goose chase, keeping them away. Maybe even to protect Scott.

Fuck.

He coughs, and wipes away the black from the corner of his mouth.

It feels miserable to be like this.

There’s a low growl, nails tapping against the stone. Stiles blinks as the dire wolf comes into view, teeth dripping with saliva, a snarl lifting its lips.

“Great,” he mutters. “Just great. Are you here to put me out of my misery quickly, or just to torment me? Because I don’t want more torment at this point. I just want… I just want to go one way or the other. Change or die. Is it that much to ask for?”

The wolf snuffles closer, eyes glowing red in the darkness.

“I think you’re Peter,” Stiles says. “And she’s a hunter and she’s… I don’t even know what she has over you, but it’s not worth it, dude. Although in your other life, you seem to be catatonic, so a life of servitude may well be an improvement. I don’t think I’d like it, but I don’t like the idea of killing on command. Maybe you do. Maybe we humans taste like the best delicacy ever known to werewolf kind.”

The wolf noses in, licking at Stiles’s face until he has to turn away, grimacing. “Quit it,” he orders, but the wolf doesn’t. It shoves its snout under the edge of his shirt, lifting it up, tongue lapping along the edge of the wounds. Stiles tries to push it away, and his fingers brush again the wound again, feeling how hot and raised and infected it is. There are little ribbons of heat running away from it, and he doesn’t need light to guess that those lines would be as dark as whatever he keeps puking up.

“I’m dying,” he says, and grits his teeth as the wolf laps at his skin again, rough and cold compared to the heat of the infection. “Not that you care, obviously.”

He drags in a rough breath and closes his eyes, leaning back against the wall. “So. Yeah. Peter.” He huffs a sigh, tries to make himself think past the fog. “You were his best friend. And I don’t know how you ended up this fucked up but if you still give a shit about him, fix this. Or kill me quickly. Put me out of my misery because I don’t even know what I’m thinking anymore.”

The teeth that press against him feel almost gentle. Careful as they ease around his waist, as if the wolf tries to find just the right spot.

It almost feels good when the teeth pierce the skin, when the tongue laves against him and washes the blood away.

It almost feels good.

Until it feels like nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Sorry? Again, a short chapter, but that's because of dramatic license and proper pacing, and well, I think there are only two or three scenes left and they will make up the final chapter. The entire thing might even come in around 30k total in length! Which will be the fastest 30k story I have ever writing when it's done, yes.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and enjoying and definitely thank you for commenting! I've had to bite my tongue on some comments so I wouldn't give anything away! I'm working on the next (hopefully last!) chapter now and give me a few days with the weather and going back to work, and it will be up. And don't forget, come visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) and feel free to drop me an Ask if you want to chat.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Minor character gets what's coming in a violent way.

Stiles wakes into chaos.

He can’t process the noise and motion, his mind moving in tiny jumps compared to the information being thrown at him.

He can’t count all the werewolves. They are growling, snarling, sprouting fur and teeth and claws, but only the dire wolf is actually a _wolf_. The others are humans with the features of monsters, driven past the point of human anger into something animalistic that makes him cringe.

It wakes something else inside of him, an urge to snap. To bite.

To kill.

He growls, soft and low, stopping when a hand falls on his shoulder.

“Hey, buddy, let’s get you out of here.”

Scott’s voice. Scott’s hand touching skin under the short sleeve of his t-shirt, warm but not hot. Reminding him that he’s human. That they are _both_ human. “What?” Stiles asks, not quite caught up.

“You’re covered in blood. Is all of this yours?” Scott sounds worried, hands skating over Stiles, checking for injuries. Stiles wants to slap him away because he doesn’t want Scott to see. No one should know what happened, no one should worry about him, not right now, not when there’s a battle being waged where wolves whimper and cry when they’re struck and he can’t tell who’s friend and who’s foe.

“I don’t think he’s exactly all here at the moment.” Another hand on his other side. Not familiar, and she smells like honey and vanilla and strawberries and why the hell is Stiles thinking about how she smells? He leans closer to her, mouth open slightly as he inhales roughly, tasting sweat in the air, and something else. Something rank and unpleasant. He whines softly and looks at her properly, needing to _see_ her to know who she is.

Cora.

Which means Derek must be one of the fighting wolves.

Stiles needs to help him. He struggles, pulling against the shackles and chains, trying to stand but Cora and Scott hold him back.

“Whoa, boy. Definitely not all here,” Cora mutters. “We are not staying here, and we are not taking part in the fray. Alpha’s orders, dude.” She grips the chains roughly and yanks; Stiles feels the pull in his wrists and cries out, but the pressure drops. He’s still wearing shackles, but he’s free. “Old metal,” she says quietly. “Don’t think you could’ve done that normally. Those were built to hold werewolves on the full moon, which is a lot stronger than you are now. Even as hungry and on edge as you are.”

Stiles isn’t hungry. He’s _angry_. The growl builds inside of him, reverberating in his chest until it echoes in his head and bursts out, loud and rough. His mouth feels thick, and it’s hard to talk. “I need to help him.”

“No, you don’t, buddy, because if you try, Laura’s going to take our heads off.” Scott pats him on the chest. “You being like…” He hesitates. “I don’t think this was expected. But it doesn’t change anything; we need to get you out of here.”

“Alpha’s orders,” Cora repeats as she throws one arm around his waist and lifts him up, slinging him over her shoulder, fireman style.

Stiles can’t leave.

Stiles _can’t leave_. 

Not like this, not now, not knowing what’s going on.

There’s a growl that he feels in his gut, then a high, keening cry and he fights viciously, claws out, tearing at Cora’s back as he forces her to put him down. He lands in a crouch, claws scraping against the floor, and he hears Scott’s rough growl in answer.

“Oh, great, now I’m babysitting two baby werewolves and what the hell do you two think you’re doing?” Cora gets in front of them, but Stiles doesn’t care.

All he cares about is that someone is calling to him, and that he needs to answer. He needs to _fight_.

Stiles dives in without thought, claws slashing out as he makes his way through the fray until he stands next to the dire wolf. This is where he needs to be. Where he _has_ to be, where he will fight to protect _this_ wolf, the one who bit him.

He doesn’t know what he attacks or who, only that he does it. If his claws reach nothing, that’s no matter; he’ll keep trying. He’ll growl and snarl and stay in the way, wondering why he isn’t struck as he guards his alpha.

In the background someone laughs, sharp and bright and brittle. The sound stops abruptly, and Stiles turns.

Allison stands behind Kate, one arm wrapped around her chest, the other with a knife at her throat, blade cutting in just enough that Stiles can smell blood as Kate tilts her head away.

The wolves stop fighting as soon as the dire wolf goes still. It lifts its head and whines.

“Don’t worry, darling, she won’t hurt me. This is Allison, my niece. My protege.” Kate smiles, despite the weapon at her throat. “I’ve taught her everything I know.”

“And I’ve learned a few things you didn’t teach me,” Allison says quietly. “Like we don’t kill for fun. And we don’t make personal armies out of werewolves.”

“They’re evil,” Kate tells her, voice flat. “Use them, or kill them, but do _not_ play with them. The only reason to fuck a wolf is to get it to do what you want. Yours is pretty, but in the end, he belongs to mine and therefore to me. If you train him well, I _might_ teach you how to turn him into a useful tool.”

“They are _people_!” Allison’s hand jerks, and the thin red line gets a shade deeper.

Something grabs Stiles from behind, yanking him back against a hard body and a scent that reminds him of comfort and home. He whines faintly, turning his head to sniff at the neck that is presented to him, to lick at salty skin.

“I’ve got you,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles closes his eyes.

He’s still in the middle of a battle that’s been paused. He’s still awash in the scents of strangers that seem almost familiar, mixed with blood and dirt and his own stale body.

But he is also surrounded by Derek, who smells surprisingly familiar, like something that Stiles needed to find his way back to. He inhales again and thinks of waking up in the morning, of mouth pressed to mouth. He thinks of standing in the shower and wishing that Derek would come in after him. He thinks of stripping down to nothing and pressing skin to skin, and he whines, anxious and needy.

“You’re going to be fun until we get you under control.” The words are a soft breath against the shell of his ear, barely audible for all that they are loud to Stiles.

He opens his eyes, and the scene finally falls into place in his mind.

The dire wolf is crouched on the ground, belly low and head lifted as it watches Kate and Allison. It’s mouth is open, teeth bared, but no sound comes out. Scott and Cora stand off to one side, not all that far from Derek and Stiles. The thick stripes Stiles raked down Cora’s back are already healed, her shirt opened and torn to show perfect skin beneath. Both of them are furry and clawed.

There isn’t a single werewolf that isn’t furry and clawed.

Erica, Isaac, Boyd, Laura… and then there’s Stiles’s dad, completely human and with his gun out. There’s no scent of gunpowder, and Stiles doesn’t remember hearing it fire, so he understands the look of sheer frustration on his dad’s face. What’s he going to do against something like this?

Stiles smells blood— _sees_ blood—but he can’t figure out exactly who was fighting who. It’s everywhere and on everyone except the humans. There was a battle, but now it’s frozen in time and he can’t catch up with what was going on. And he’s pretty sure that it’s important to know who are the bad guys here, because by now, he’s a little iffy on where the lines lie.

Grey is a tough color to figure out, and there doesn’t seem to be a lot of black and white. Not even in himself. When the dire wolf growls, Stiles aches to rush to its side, to do battle on its behalf. But at the same time, he wants to sink under Derek’s skin and please him.

It’s complicated inside his head.

“You can’t kill me,” Kate says idly. “Not only is it against the code, but if you do, that wolf right there will rip your throat out. The only thing holding him back right now is me. He’s waiting for me, waiting for his orders. And remember, he has a pack behind him. Whatever you think about them, there are five betas that answer to him first, before anything else. It’s fascinating what instinct does.”

“Yes, it is.” Allison twists Kate around abruptly until she has her bent over, arms twisted into a lock behind her back. She forces her to her knees, holding her there as the dire wolf creeps forward. “I don’t know exactly how you worked this magic, but you did, and you’re going to pay the price for it.”

She reaches for a chain around Kate’s neck, grabs it and yanks. Small white beads fly out, scattering across the floor.

The dire wolf pounces.

Stiles doesn’t get a chance to see what happens next as Derek lifts him easily and carries him away. He can smell the stench of the underground, the sudden rush of blood.

He’s pretty sure he will never forget the sound of teeth crunching bone. He doesn’t want to know any more about it after that.

#

Stiles sits next to Derek on the steps of the old Hale house, surrounded by burnt wood and ash. There are still sounds at the edge of his hearing, but he tries to close it away, to filter it out so that it isn’t real and can’t be happening. Instead he twists his hands together tightly and tries to focus inward, forcing himself to be human again.

He thinks he might have it right when his dad crouches down in front of him and doesn’t flinch away. “I need a minute alone with Stiles,” the sheriff says, and Derek gets up and walks away without a word. Stiles listens for his footsteps, hears him go back inside. They are all still inside the burnt out husk, some above ground and some still in the basement.

He looks at his father. “I’m okay,” he assures him. Stiles holds out both hands, then lifts his shirt to show his freshly healed torso. “I’m fine. Seriously, I’m fine.”

“That’s a lot of blood.”

Okay, Stiles can’t argue with that. There is blood on his skin, on his shirt, on his jeans. There is dried blood mixed with dirt on his hands. It’s everywhere and he can smell it and it smells like _him_. 

“I _wasn’t_ fine,” he says slowly. “But I am now. I mean. As fine as I’m going to get.”

“It bit you.” Because Dad is the sheriff and sometimes he needs things said bluntly. Specifically, like evidence in a case all neatly lined up in front of them and ready for the jury.

Stiles’s gaze drops away because in all of this, he never asked himself what Dad would think if it hit closer to home. It’s all happened so fast, and he’s having trouble processing it himself. “Yeah. Twice.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’ve got someone like Derek to show you the ropes. I don’t think this is going to be an easy road for you, son.” His dad is right there in front of him, hands on Stiles’s shoulder before he pulls him in for a rough hug. And Stiles just _holds on_ because he needs this right now, needs to dig his fingertips in and cling like he’s still five and being coddled after a skinned knee.

It isn’t the same thing at all, but it also _is_ the same. He needs that comfort of knowing that his dad’s going to be okay with this all.

A car pulls up and Stiles’s nostrils flare, instinctively tasting the air. He takes in the scent but has to look to see that it’s Melissa McCall getting out of her car, looking worried until Scott rushes out of the house and hugs her. Stiles can hear Scott’s apology and the way his mom chides him for running away, then he does his best not to listen anymore even though it’s surprisingly loud to his werewolf ears.

“Erica betrayed me,” Stiles says, and his dad just nods.

“We know. She came back immediately to tell us what she’d done.”

“Why?”

“Pack politics are complicated.” Derek sits back on the step next to Stiles, wedging himself in close enough to press knee to knee. The sheriff pats Stiles’s shoulder and murmurs something about leaving Stiles in good hands now before he walks away. 

“Erica’s alpha is insane, but she’s still bound to him,” Derek tells him. “On the other hand, Laura’s an actual alpha, and _trying_ to be an alpha, not just taking orders from someone else. It makes her stronger.”

“You know it’s Peter, right?” Because Stiles needs to get that out in the open.

“I know it’s Peter,” Derek says quietly. “I also know he’s still broken, physically and emotionally, and we suspect that Kate was his anchor and that’s why he relied on her so heavily. We may never know for sure, though, because she’s dead and he’s not likely to be able to tell us any time soon.”

“Why would he kill her?”

Derek’s laugh is tight. “Because no one wants to be controlled. No matter how much they might love someone, they want to have free will. And there was enough of him in there to figure that out.” He glances at where the sheriff stands with Melissa and Scott. “He’s back to human again down there, and he’s catatonic again. The facility needs to know what happened, and they need to put him under a different sort of watch. Make sure it can’t happen again.”

“I’m sorry.” They aren’t words enough, not when Stiles knows that Derek is talking about putting the man who used to be his best friend into what amounts to incarceration for supernatural catatonic beings.

“He’s in there,” Derek says quietly. “Ten years healed his wolf… maybe the next ten years can let his wolf heal the human side. We won’t know until we get there.”

Stiles reaches for Derek, threads their hands together and holds on tight. He’s not sure what to say next, or if something really has to be said, and honestly, he’s got a lot to assimilate himself.

For one, he doesn’t think that Erica’s inherently evil. She confessed, and they came to find him. He felt the pull to Peter himself, the war between following Peter and sticking with Derek. Stiles can’t entirely blame her for having to deal with biology. Maybe he can blame her for the joy she seemed to take in the moment, but they’ll sort that out later. It can even be a private conversation.

Then there’s the whole issue of being a werewolf and pack and how it all fits together. How much of it _is_ biology, and how much is choice.

Plus the complication of maybe being in a pack with the guy he’s pretending to be dating, and is supposed to be pretending to break up with later this week.

Not to mention the part where he doesn’t want to break up.

Or pretend.

Stiles drops his head, eyes closed, and just sucks air in and holds it for a long moment. When Derek squeezes his hand, he exhales and looks back over at him again.

“It’s morning,” Derek points out.

Stiles has noticed this. It’s light out, and starting to warm up. Maybe nine in the morning, he’d guess, which is definitely a long ways away from when they went to the coffee shop last night, but hey, he got a little sleep (if passing out can be called that) between then and now. “Yeah. It is.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Maybe Stiles should be prepared for the way Derek leans in, slots a hand behind his head and tugs him closer, fitting their mouths together.

Maybe he should be prepared, but he’s _not_ , and he whimpers slightly as the kiss deepens, Derek’s tongue begging entrance and Stiles granting it. It’s slow and easy and comfortable, and Stiles thinks he could go on like this forever, and that maybe it’s even the perfect gift. Definitely better than the whole werewolf package he was given on Christmas Eve and can’t actually give back. He wouldn’t _want_ to give this kiss back.

Something hits him on top of the head and from the way Derek jumps, Stiles thinks he was probably thumped too.

“Still not the time,” Cora says with a roll of her eyes, even though she’s grinning. “I don’t know about you two, but I want to get back to the house and get cleaned up. John’s invited everyone over for Christmas breakfast, said he can stretch out what he bought, although some folks offered to by the coffee shop and pick up day-old pastries since the shop is closed this morning for the holiday.”

“And coffee,” Stiles suggests.

“I’m going with them, so I’ll make sure.” Cora points at the Camaro. “Go. Get in. Laura’s taking you home. Try to hold off on the making out until you get there. Or at least until none of us have to see it.”

They have a few minutes alone in the tightly cramped back seat of the Camaro before Laura arrives, and they make good use of it. Stiles tries to only think about how _good_ Derek tastes to him, and how different it is kissing when he can taste every little thing on his skin and his breath. He can’t think about anything else, not now, not when this is as amazing as it is.

Everything else can wait.

Sometimes it’s the right thing to do to live in the moment, so Stiles focuses on doing just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *phew* Finally. Well, it's only been two days, but I had to work yesterday and couldn't write a single word, so here we are today. And it turns out that I lied a little... there WILL be one more chapter, but it will be heartworming, I hope, not all angsty and cliffhangerish. I'm going to start writing that as soon as I get this posted everywhere. And don't forget, you can come visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) and talk to me! When I'm done writing this story, I will post a little retrospective about how this story came to be (and how it kind of got away from me in the writing of it... short little 3-5k fluffy fake boyfriend story... HAH my brain says and cackles maniacally *sighs*).
> 
> Thank you all for lovely comments and for being here and I hope you are enjoying it! One more chapter, that's it, and I hope it will give y'all a satisfying ending. I do love schmoop in my endings.


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles keeps thinking he should be more tired than he is, but apparently being a werewolf gives him an unbelievable level of stamina. Which is something he might have to look into later, but not now, not when he’s well aware of _exactly_ how well sound travels in his house. When he’s upstairs, he can hear Scott and Allison making out in the kitchen. He can hear a serious conversation somewhere in the house between the Hales and coffee shop pack, establishing boundaries. They drag the sheriff into it to talk about re-establishing the Hale pack’s presence in town, and that’s when Stiles ducks into the shower.

The water sluicing over his head cuts out everything else for a time, but he’s under no illusion that they can’t hear him so he makes it quick and just gets himself as clean as he possibly can, getting rid of the scent of dirt and blood. He feels like he scrubs off an entire layer of skin, but by the time he is toweling himself dry, the pink raw skin is already fading back to his usual pale color.

He tucks the end of the towel in and pads barefoot into his bedroom to find clothes, and stops dead when he sees Derek sitting there on the bed. “Dude.” He tries not to choke. “I’m naked here.”

Derek spreads his hands in a silent expression of innocence, his eyebrows lifting. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am.” Stiles holds onto the edge of the towel and tries not to think about the fact that Derek is seeing him without a shirt. Not that he’s got anything to be ashamed of. Okay, yes, he’s skinny. But he’s mostly fit. Kind of. Enough, anyway, and he was thinking of going out for lacrosse again so he’s been keeping up in the weight room at college. He’s not _ripped_ , not like some people tend to be, but he’s okay. He hopes.

His tongue peeks out between his lips as he risks a look at Derek. Hazel eyes are staring at Stiles, his mouth slightly open, and there’s a scent that Stiles doesn’t recognize but it’s rapidly flooding the room and making his body react in uncomfortable and embarrassing ways.

Stiles turns his back on Derek and digs through the drawer to find a fresh t-shirt. Stud muffin. Hah, sure, why not? He can’t make anything worse, and he is _not_ going to hunt for and wear the cheesy Christmas sweater Lydia gave him last year. He’s not even sure if he’s supposed to be wearing it ironically or honestly, which means it’s staying in a drawer.

Wait.

Lydia.

Oh _hell_ , Stiles has to catch Lydia up on everything she missed if someone hasn’t told her yet. She and Jackson weren’t there this morning, but they’ll be over today for breakfast and… “Crap.”

“What?”

“Lydia. And Jackson. And I’m just not ready for a second coming out story, or another series of lies.” Stiles twists the shirt in his hands as he falls back onto the bed, sitting on the edge. “It’s just… this is complicated.”

“Does she need to know?”

Stiles doesn’t know what to do with that question. It’s a complete turnaround from where they were not long ago, when Derek was insisting that Scott couldn’t tell Allison. Now it’s a question, and he seems to be waiting for an honest answer.

He sighs. “Yeah. She needs to know. She needs to know _everything_. So does Scott, so does Allison.”

This isn’t just about the werewolf thing. If it were just that, he wouldn’t have included Scott and Allison, because they already know. At least, he assumes Allison knows since she was there and on their side and… nope, he’s not going there and trying to figure out how fucked up that family dynamic has to be now.

His head cocks and he glances out the window. And that would be two cars: Chris Argent in one, and Jackson’s Porsche. “Things are going to get entertaining.”

“We could sneak out the back.” Derek lifts one eyebrow and Stiles laughs.

“No, we really couldn’t. Dad’s going to be watching everyone like a hawk and gathering his chicks together and making sure we’re all okay. And it’ll be fine, I know it.” Stiles glances at the door to his room, hearing Lydia air-kissing Allison’s cheek in the living room downstairs, and the hearty holiday wishes and surprise at how many people are there. “Go on down, okay? I need to get dressed, and…” He trails off, figuring that if anyone’s listening they’ll hear _and if I do it while you’re here we’ll be distracted_ rather than _and I can’t get naked with you in the room_ like he really means.

Derek hesitates, then reaches out to place his palm flat against Stiles’s cheek. “Don’t take too long,” he says quietly, then he leaves Stiles alone, pulling the door shut behind him.

Stiles dresses quickly, yanking on the t-shirt and a clean pair of underwear and jeans. He also boots his laptop up, and by the time he’s clothed, it’s sitting on the desk, ready and waiting for him.

His mind may still be processing things, but there are a few things that are floating to the surface already, and Stiles wants to look them up quickly. He has an idea for later. A gift that he didn’t plan, but now that he’s thinking of it, it sounds like a great idea.

And he already knows that his instincts can be good. Like the mistletoe over the front door. Now he just needs to figure out how to do what he wants to do, and how to get Derek there to see it.

#

“Where are we going?” Derek’s voice is low as Stiles navigates through the low light of dusk down the road through the preserve.

The thing is, he knows Derek doesn’t need to ask. There’s only one possible place they _could_ be going, now that Stiles took that particular turn. “Just trust me, okay?” He pulls into the open space outside the ruins of the old Hale house and stops the Jeep, opening his door and spilling out.

Derek still sits there.

Stiles leans back in and gives him a look. “Get out,” he says quietly. “I need you to come with me for this.”

“Why are we here, Stiles?”

Derek’s jaw is set and tight, his eyes dark and looking down at the dashboard, rather than over at Stiles.

Fine. So it’s going to be like that.

“Well, for one, you and I need to talk without prying ears around. And since there’s some kind of pack meeting going on in my house while your sister tries to work out suitable ways to control her brand new pack members, since your uncle wasn’t teaching them anything useful and was just fucking with their minds, my house is not a great place for that. And for two, there’s something I wanted to give you, and this is where it has to be. So,” Stiles holds out one hand. “Come with me?”

Derek pushes open the door and climbs out slowly, his shoulders hunched and hands shoved in his pocket as he looks at the ruins. “My family died here,” he says quietly.

“I know.” That’s why it has to be _here_ and not anywhere else. Stiles’s research is, admittedly, pretty thin on details, but he was also operating under a very tight deadline of not missing breakfast, and he doesn’t necessarily have any way of separating fact from myth. Stiles budges up close to Derek, standing with their shoulders brushing as he tries to offer solidity and comfort. “Trust me?”

“You were bitten here.” The muscle at the corner of Derek’s jaw twitches. “Against your will.”

“If you want to get technical, I think the first bite was actually at the coffee shop.” Stiles shrugs because what does that part matter now? “Yes, we had a knock down drag out fight here earlier, and _yes_ , your enemy _died_ here earlier. That’s part of why we’re here.” He holds out his hand again, and this time Derek takes it, lacing their fingers together.

Stiles takes them both inside, taking the time to actually look at the place this time. The kitchen is still partly standing, a hull of a house with a door that is miraculously whole. Stiles knows that leads to the basement, and he has no need to see that again any time soon. The living room is almost entirely whole, but Stiles can see sky through the roof above, where pieces of the next floor up are burned and gone. Still, there’s enough space to do what he wants. “Sit down there.” He points to a random place in the center of the floor, and Derek sits warily.

“We are not going to make out here.”

“Did Cora have another talk with you before we left about not making my dad angry?” Stiles shakes his head  at the way everyone seems determined to keep them from doing anything. He digs chalk out of the backpack he’s carrying and starts by drawing a circle on the floor with Derek at the center, then inscribes a star inside of that. He drops the pack next to Derek, muttering, “Don’t laugh, okay? I’m winging this.” 

He holds his phone in his hand with the GPS pointing him towards North, East, South and West in succession, and he murmurs something he read online about greeting the gods of each ordinal. Then he turns in a slow circle, hand held out as if he were redrawing his chalk circle in the air all over again.

It’s all about _intent_ , the article had said. And he has a lot of intent.

When he’s done, he drops back to the ground and whether it worked or not, he _feels_ better. “Like when I put the mistletoe up,” he says as he digs through the pack again, pulling things out. “It felt like the right thing to do, and Erica implied that it had actually had an impact. I think Peter had planned to come through the front door, and he couldn’t once I protected it.” He separates two sets of twigs into separate piles. “Mistletoe is for protection. It’s also for a lot of other things, one of which we’ll be using here tonight.”

He shoves the second pile aside for the moment, then puts the mistletoe twigs between them on the floor. He holds out the lighter to Derek.

“Go on. Light it up.”

Derek doesn’t even smile. “You want me to start a fire in the burned out shell of my old home?” Both eyebrows lift.

Stiles opens his mouth, then closes it again. “When you put it that way, it does sound like a kind of bad idea,” he admits. “Let me explain.” Derek holds one hand up, tilting it as if to say _go on_ , so Stiles does. “First, we’re in a protective circle. I mean, if I’ve got it right, we are currently in a magical no-man’s-land, so the regular rules of physics don’t apply. Whatever fires we start, if they are magically intended, they aren’t going to burn out of control. Secondly, mistletoe has a lot of uses. There’s the one we all know, about kissing under it. It’s supposed to be lucky for couples, especially ones trying to conceive. Which obviously, we’re not, but I’ve warned Scott and Allison that it might not be as innocent as they think.”

Derek’s raised eyebrow communicates _get on with it_ without him uttering a word.

“Right, so, one of the other things it does is if you burn it, it banishes unwanted spirits.” Stiles glances at the kitchen, and the door to the basement. “Like Kate. And I really don’t think we want her hanging around any longer, Derek, so…” He tries to hand over the lighter again. “Light ‘em up.”

Derek takes the lighter and holds it loosely. His hand shakes slightly when he tries to manage the safety and fire it up at the same time, and Stiles reaches out to help him, holding him steady until the flame flickers into being.

“This will work,” he murmurs as Derek holds the flame to the twigs. They catch after a time, and the smoke is acrid, burning into his lungs. Derek coughs when he inhales, and they sit there, hands linked as they watch it burn.

Whether it is real or not doesn’t matter; it _works_ because of the way Derek’s expression lightens when the mistletoe is reduced to nothing more than ash. _Intent_.

And that’s what’s important about this last one. Stiles sweeps away the remains of the mistletoe briskly, until the floor is bare. Then he neatly layers prickly holly leaves, picked that morning from the holly bush in his backyard.

When the little mound is complete, he reaches for Derek’s hands and pushes them down against the leaves.

“Ten years ago, a tragedy happened here. These spirits aren’t unwanted,” Stiles says quietly. “You want them to be with you. You _miss_ them. But they don’t want to haunt you, either. They want to be in your heart, and you know they always will be. This is the time of year when the world changes, tilting from the longest night into a time when the sun comes a little more each day. Holly can be used to ease the loss of loved ones in death. And I couldn’t find out exactly how, so I came up with my own plan. Because I know you need something, but at the same time, you don’t want to let go completely.”

Stiles lets his thumbs drift over the backs of Derek’s hands. “Close your eyes, dude. Think about them. Start with the oldest, and work your way to the youngest, and see them in your mind’s eye. And say goodbye.”

The hardest part about this is that Stiles is trying to follow his own advice. It’s been almost ten years, but he still remembers his mother clearly. Like she was before she got sick, before the chemo and the hospital. His lips press thin and he has to remember how to breathe when he sees her in his imagination. His fingers tighten on Derek’s and Derek squeezes back gently.

“Ready,” Derek says, his voice hoarse.

“Light ‘em up.” Stiles withdraws, gives him space to do it, then sits with his hands curled near the fire while it burns. There is smoke from the fresh leaves, but they burn surprisingly fast down to only ash, and a moment later they are cool enough to touch.

Stiles huffs a soft breath, then gathers a few pinches of the ash into a small tin and tucks it in his pocket. The rest goes into a larger tin that he hands to Derek. “Wherever you end up, you’ll have them with you. And this will help you have them in a good way, in your heart, but not strangling you.”

He places the tin in his hands, but Derek says nothing. He just sits there, staring at the tin, hands cradled close together.

“Big guy?” Stiles nudges him. “This is it. I mean… Merry Christmas. It’s a weird gift, I know, but I just… I wanted to do something to help.”

“You did.” Derek’s voice is still rough. “I just… you fit into all of this so easily. It’s only been a couple of days, and here you are researching things that I grew up with like they come naturally.”

“You knew about this?” Stiles feels like an idiot because he didn’t even _think_ that maybe Derek already knew about this and would have done it already.

Derek shakes his head, reaching for Stiles, gripping his hands tightly. “No. Not this. Wolfsbane, yes, and mountain ash barriers. But not _this_.”

“Good. Then I’m glad it helped.” Stiles smiles slowly because if it has done anything to lighten the load of grief Derek was carrying, Stiles is happy. He manages to disengage himself carefully, pushing to his feet and rubbing out the lines of the star and circle to break the barrier. The real world feels like it crowds in around him as soon as the circle is gone, but it doesn’t crush him, not this time. “This holiday hasn’t gone exactly like I thought it would.”

Derek laughs, the sound tight. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

“So.” Stiles fights to keep his voice light. “Are we still on for a fight on Friday?” He doesn’t want to ask, but he started this, so he has to end it, and preferably before it starts to hurt too much. Because he _likes_ being with Derek. As crazy as it’s been, it’s started to feel _real_.

“No.”

“No?” Stiles doesn’t know what to do in the face of that one word. “I mean. We could say we fought now. If you want. If you don’t want to have to try to fake it in front of your sisters. We’ll just go back and—”

He cuts off when Derek grabs both his arms, pulling him closer. “We’ll just go back and fall into bed exhausted after two ridiculously long days,” Derek tells him. “And we’ll sleep. And when we wake up in the morning, we’ll piss Cora off by getting in the shower and letting the water run for a very long time.”

“What?” That scent is back, the one that twists into Stiles’s senses and makes his body hot and tight. But he doesn’t understand the words, doesn’t follow them, because what Derek is saying doesn’t match reality.

“We’re not going to break up, Stiles.” Derek fits one hand behind his back, pulling him in. “And we’re not going to pretend. In fact, they don’t ever have to know that it wasn’t real.”

Okay. So. That was blunt.

And it all makes sense.

Except. “Wait. What?”

Derek’s other hand rests against his cheek, then slides back to palm the nape of his neck. “Why did your friends think we were dating?”

Stiles flushes. “Well, I might have mentioned you a few hundred times.”

“Why do you think my sisters thought we were dating?”

“Because you told them?”

Derek smirks. “No. But I might have mentioned this absolutely _infuriating_ student that I had a few hundred times. After about the first thirty, Cora got suspicious. After the first fifty, Laura told me to bring you home so she could meet you.”

“You…” Stiles can’t finish the sentence.

“And you, yes.” Derek kisses him, slow and steady. “So maybe we should try this for real.”

“Why do you smell so good?” Stiles has to ask because it is damnably distracting. He wants to bury his nose against Derek’s throat, nuzzle under the collar of his shirt, and lick his skin. _All_ of his skin. He manages to get one small nip before Derek grips his arms and nudges him back.

“Not here,” Derek says.

And that’s okay. Stiles walks backwards, pulling Derek with him, stepping out into the light and away from the burned remnants of Derek’s past. “We’ve got an entire preserve,” he points out. “Or a Jeep.”

“I’ll take the Jeep.” Derek pushes him back faster, shoving him up against the Jeep. “It’s closer. And you’re right here.”

Stiles frames Derek’s face, pulling him in for a kiss as Derek slots their bodies together. His back against the Jeep, he can’t go anywhere, can’t escape when Derek rolls his hips, proving that this interest goes both ways. Stiles groans loudly, falling into a kiss that is anything but gentle. He tastes want and need and hunger, and he gives that back as well.

There is _nothing_ fake about this. Not anymore, and maybe there never was.

That’s okay with Stiles. Very okay.

He nips at Derek’s lip, rewarded by a groan. “Best Christmas present ever,” Stiles murmurs against his mouth.

“Normally we unwrap our presents,” Derek reminds him.

So Stiles does, unwrapping his perfect gift and letting Derek unwrap him in return. Nothing more needs be said after that, just touched, licked, tasted, and kissed as Stiles shows him in every way that he can that yes, it is most definitely the best Christmas ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! The story is done, and I hope y'all have enjoyed it. I know there are some scenes that didn't happen on screen, but that was intentional; I really wanted to focus on Derek and Stiles here at the end.
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me. It's been almost 33k words posted in ten chapters in 12 days, which is kind of a brutal writing pace. Yikes! If y'all want to know where the story came from, and how it grew into what it became, check out [my tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) and I will try to get that posted this evening.
> 
> Take care all, and I hope y'all have had a brilliant start to the new year. I'm pretty sure Derek and Stiles are going to in this story. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


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